


Fief of Blood (A Vampire Story featuring Greta, Annie and the Pale Mistress)

by cartesiandaemon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:52:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13807776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartesiandaemon/pseuds/cartesiandaemon
Summary: An original urban fantasy story written during nanowrimo 2017.





	1. Chapter 1

Greta had been dancing for nearly twenty-four hours when a pair of constables tried to stop her. The constables were looking suspiciously at her, a large woman in a mesh top and a leather trenchcoat, bopping backwards deceptively quickly along Fen Causeway. But she stood no chance of bumping into anyone, even with her eyes closed and music pounding in her ears. Vampire senses are that good.

She spun, and ignoring what they were saying, held her head level while she danced her body from side to side. But in the early dusk she couldn't maintain eye contact, and the older constable was starting to get angry, so she yanked the earbuds out and abandoned her gyration. She met the constable's gaze head on, and after a moment she fell under Greta's spell.

Greta hissed with frustration at the interfering constables. Vampires don't physically tire, so when she'd started dancing to the distantly familiar music last night, Greta had had no reason to stop and danced all night, hidden underground from the sun. She hadn't taken on her dayform, she regularly practised keeping her body moving as it weakened during the day. And now the constables had interrupted her just after sunset.

The younger constable had started to looking worriedly at her suddenly silent colleague, and Greta shifted her gaze to include her too, and then beckoned them both after her as she danced on down the street. She wished she could get them dancing too, but that went a little far for vampire hypnosis, at least what she could do with a look and a crook of her finger.

By the time they brought up outside Melissa's den, a pile of masonry taking the place of a corner house, her heart wasn't in it any more and she fell still. It sprawled behind a couple of other houses, containing a surprisingly large interior area while looking like a ruined abbey mysteriously at home on a residential street.

She considered the sky. It was nearly full dark, but Melissa and her coterie almost never wakened promptly, and she heard no signs of movement from the house, the day servants already prepared for the waking vampires, but not yet fussing around them.

"I'll open the door," she began. "You two search the house. Round up any humans, take them to the station. If there's too many, take the senior ones, take the names of the rest and send them home."

She quickly thought through the rest of her orders. "Lose any paperwork you can," she added. "Don't question any names they give." She had no idea if any might be on file for something else, or be in the country with dubious status. "Make sure you let them go. Talk to DCI Carslow if you have any problems." Carslow was a sometime thrall of Greta's Pale Mistress. "And then never think about this again." She reinforced that last bit with a further glare, until the constables nodded firmly.

Greta walked up to the door and smashed a hand through the letterbox and pulled the door open from behind, bending the deadbolts, then stepped aside, ironically waving the constables ahead of her. Uncertainty falling away with a specific task in front of them, they hurried through the door, and Greta waited before following.

Sounds of hurried footsteps, exclamations, shouts, and mild panic filtered back out of the house, but Greta had faith the servants wouldn't try to resist. After a minute she started on into the house. The door led directly into a large downstairs sitting room, heavy drapes pulled closed, but only loosely closed, with the faith of vampires who retreated into safe dayforms carefully before dawn. The rich furniture and inadequate lighting -- mainly for the benefit of the servants -- made the room look like it should be a dusty mausoleum, although in fact a regular cleaning service made sure it always housed an impersonal cleanliness.

As she moved past a narrow stone staircase further into the room, she saw three of the four residents had stayed in the sitting room overnight as she expected, their elegant statue dayforms ignored as typically eccentric Cambridge art by the constables, and any servants not yet initiated into the specifics of their mistresses household.

At the far of the living room the older constable was standing watchdog over a small handful of domestic staff, a couple of last cleaners, and the catering people who'd already arrived for the day. The younger constable searched the rest of the house.

The staff muttered mutinously. Greta didn't recognize any of them, but walked into the middle of the room, and directed instructions to the older woman she pegged as having the most authority, "It's ok. Go with the constables, I'll sort everything out." Most would be thralls, even if they were employed by a regular human agency, and would listen to her even if they weren't sure what was going on. The younger vampires, shirking the effort to develop their own servants, simply employed a human cleaning agency (during the day) and catering service (at night) to look after their manse.

Most of the staff who attended regularly at night would have been tapped for blood as well. Not enough to sustain four growing vampires, but enough to tide them over between major feeds from their main hunting grounds. And the combination of regular hypnosis and regular blood donation inexorably altered them until they felt the loyalty and subservience of thralls even when under no active orders.

The youngest vampire owing fealty directly to the Pale Mistress without an intermediate patron, Melissa was still decades and decades too young to petition for a thrall to be turned the rest of the way into a vampire. And so the young vampires had neglected to develop personally trusted human thralls, settling instead for convenience of having a steady supply of competent servants on call. Some of the servants huddled at the end of the room might even be yet to be initiated, attending one more bizarre middle class catering job. But any thralls would know who she was, and know to obey her. She took note of the ones who noticed.

Greta took a seat in an unoccupied armchair, across from the incongruous statues sitting next to each other on the sofa. Melissa stood gracefully facing the window, arms slightly raised at her sides like a classical statue of delicate marble. She could take on her day form in an instant. It was typical she'd developed one which emphasized elegance and prudence over practicality.

Susan and Thomas sat reclined on the sofas, having let their dayforms overtake them more slowly. Susan's features were obscured in polished dark reflections, whereas Thomas' form was all elegant curves and warm red tracery. Greta inspected them all carefully for signs of movement, but they were still still. Little Annette, the youngest, usually woke first, maybe because her dayform was least comfortable, or she was most nervous, and Greta silently willed the constables to hurry before she needed to order them out and break the ruse that this was all a misunderstanding she was clearing up, not a well-judged reminder to Melissa's nest not to test their Pale Mistress' patience.

After only a minute longer, the younger constable reported the house was clear, and they herded the servants out into the street, some looking cowed, others marching firmly and glancing at their stationary masters and confirming their thrall status. Greta watched them leave, carefully noting that the one she thought was the senior thrall was included in the ones the constables seemed to be keeping.

Greta smiled mischievously. She pulled a four-way power adaptor from the wall and one-handedly pushed Melissa's inert form forward, until it was at the point of toppling, making sure to catch it before she tipped over. Keeping her at that angle, she slid the adaptor under her feet until it supported her, and stepped carefully backwards making sure she didn't fall.

Greta surveyed the elegant statue dayforms and regretfully discarded some entertaining ideas. She saw why they appealed to the fashionable apres-vie set, but without any experienced thralls to stand guard during the day, they were completely vulnerable. They were easily overlooked by humans, but the thin-limbed stone could be easily smashed if a human figured out what they were. And if they were ever attacked during the day, the insensate forms wouldn't wake in time to run.

Even bats and wolves were less good animal forms than they had been. Overpowering or escaping from a single human was no longer a useful defence if you were surprised during the day. If they were isolated, you could overcome them easily without needing a second form at all, or slip away. And if you ever got cornered by hunters who knew what they were doing, they'd bring guns and drugged darts, and charmed ammunition, and you needed to be something that could slip away or that could overcome a crowd at once.

She turned her back on the statues and headed back to the narrow staircase near the door. It lead up to warrens of more secluded rooms the vampires used when they wanted to avoid the sun or be private. Greta headed upstairs to Annie's room, to speak to her before the others woke. Near the top, she gathered up Annie's discarded furry monster slippers. Annie always dressed so dapper, but at home, she loved the warm comforting fuzzy things, like she wanted to fill up coldness inside her and return to a younger, more innocent self.

Greta padded along the stone corridor to Annie's room, dangling her slippers from one hand. Her door stood open, but her drapes were firmly closed. Greta knew the window behind was half boarded up, so most of the room wasn't in direct sunlight even with the drapes open. The room was small, homey, and meticulously neat. She suspected Annie of sneaking the vacuum cleaner up her to clean again, when the servants and the other vampires wouldn't see.

Annie was laying awkwardly on the bed, a pallid white waxwork her features all just slightly malformed from what they should be. Annie had tried to follow Thomas and Melissa's dayforms, but her heart hadn't been in it. Greta wanted to try to teach her to develop one more suited to her, but didn't want to wade into the nest politics to do so. It looked like she'd been sitting on her bed, and fallen as she completed the transformation.

Greta knew she'd have put it off transforming until day weariness threatened to overtake her human form. Annie hated the awkward ugly parody she became, but she didn't feel safe if she slept untransformed, imagining one of the cleaning staff barging into the room and thoughtlessly opening the drapes. Melissa resisted taking on permanent servants, and the cleaners who came in while the vampires slept were under less close control than the catering staff who came in the night and served the vampires personally, and didn't stay the whole night.

Greta walked gently over to her and laid a hand on her brow. "Annette," she called. "Little Annie. Wake up and talk to me of favourite books and gossip, and complain of hierarchy politics before your cousins awake."

Annie shifted abruptly back into a human form, already dressed neatly, and started on the bed as she regained her balance. Sitting up, looking so much more herself.

"Greta," she greeted me politely, friendly but wary. It was easier to control Annette with kindness than fear, but Greta needed to keep the fear present for her more formidable masters. That's why she was sitting over her as she awoke.

"How was Norwich?" Annie asked. She was one of the few who seemed to care about Greta for her own sake. She didn't know about the rogue fledgling Greta had gone to hunt down, but knew the sort of missions Greta carried out.

"Successful," replied Greta succinctly, and then let herself soften. It wasn't really Annie's fault Greta was here to tell her off. She thought through her hunt, and the nasty fight when the rogue vampire went feral and Greta needed to eliminate her without drawing attention the Norwich vampires would object to. She couldn't talk about most of it, but she picked out some things she could talk freely about "I didn't visit the castle, but I requested guest-right in the city. The premier's people granted me the appropriate hunting rights, but it wasn't very glamorous."

"And did you change your coat?" asked Annie mischievously.

Greta indicated her leather coat. "My old coat got ruined in a fight, but I took this one off an aggravating human in the market. Nice, isn't it?"

In turn, Greta asked her about the latest histories she'd been reading, and the junior academics she spent time with. But Greta wanted to make sure she had time to pass her Mistress' message on to Annie before the others woke naturally and hurried the conversation onto the most important point on her agenda.

She knew she needed to be harsher with Annie than she wanted. "A week ago, while I was away, one of Carlos' pizza couriers went missing. Sy was a promising lad, early twenties, working for Carlos until the economy picks up in a few decades. Carlos said he was dating a man, a bit older than him, who had young children, he helped look after them often."

"Carlos even helped with the babysitting once. Sy was quite a protégé of Carlos, donated blood to him every so often. Carlos said he'd have been able to run the business if he wanted to. Carlos had him tapped for another thrall if he loses one, or when he lets Andrea retire." Andrea has been Carlos' confident for a couple of decades, but didn't want to be turned and he wasn't willing to force her.

"He was only missing for a day. He turned up at Addenbrooke's. Severe anaemia. Possible brain damage from lack of oxygen. Cuts to the neck."

She lent over Annie gently. "I know Susan makes you do all the work. Melissa doesn't keep proper thralls, it falls to you to run all the errands. You fetched him for Thomas."

She twitched. She had a long way to go to go in hiding her reactions. She didn't try to lie, or admit her wrong, she still had a human's futile attempt to compromise between lie and truth. "It was at a club..." she stammered. "The Pale Mistress... She gave us hunting rights. Nightclubs, as well as the university. Melissa said it was all within our rights."

"Shhhh". Greta laid a finger over her mouth, cutting her off as she started to reel off how many victims they were entitled to take in a sixmonth. "It was at a club, yes. At, not in. Sy was just off shift. Still in uniform. He knew one of the bouncers, was stopping by to make plans for the weekend and shoot the breeze for a few minutes before going home." Or so Carlos had described it. I thought he probably had the right of it. "Inside the fencing for the queue. Just."

"I'm sorry, Annie. You have a responsibility to your Pale Mistress in your own right, you know. Not just to do whatever Thomas and Susan and Melissa tell you."

Now she looked scared, and Greta knew she needed to drive the point home. Annette wouldn't stand up to them yet, not for several more go-rounds, but I needed to convey my Mistress' message. "Did Susan send you?" I knew she probably had, I needed Annie's nod to open the gates of cooperation. And to confirm where the disobedience flowed from.

Now Greta felt confident to talk. "It was Thomas' turn. Melissa and Susan share, and you have the leftovers, if you can stomach it, in between the occasional quavering victim you bring yourself to feed from, always one half-drained here, sipped on there, never too much." Annie avoided draining victims as much as a vampire could, but it left her weak, always desperate for the leavings of the others when she could justify it to herself. "But Susan likes to provide a victim for Thomas, one of the free, handsome men he likes so much."

"It'd be so much better for him if she left well alone. He's so nice, so respectful all the time. But he can't control his hunger, and those perfect victims drive him into a frenzy, and then he hates himself after." I laid it on thick. I wanted to train her out of constantly deferring to the older vampires in the Apres Vie set.

"Susan is bucking for Melissa's role, and Melissa is bucking for our Pale Mistress' role. Which will never happen, not for hundreds of years." That was more positive than it sounded: Greta's Mistress would fall eventually, and whoever came next, one of the senior vampires, or an upstart, it didn't have to mean Greta's own death. "Susan runs around, trying to be as well-dressed, as erudite, as well regarded as Melissa seems without trying. Melissa encourages her in these sneaky turf wars, testing the boundaries of our Mistress' edicts to see who's too weak to enforce them."

"That's what you did. Susan set you up. I don't know if she sent you looking for Sy particularly" -- Annie shook her head defensively. "She described the sort of man she wanted you to find," Greta continued smoothly. "She's kept you all hunting well within your quota, you had the freedom to pick someone new without a lot of cultivation first. She suggested the venue. And you turned up. Did your job, inveigled Sy into a car and bagged him."

"You knew he was a delivery driver, one of the same food couriers Carlos runs. You knew you were poaching whatever Susan or Melissa said about the letter of the agreement." I raised my voice a little, showing a tiny tinge of anger here. "She sent you out within the letter of our Mistress' decree, but she knew it was a direct insult to Carlos. An unwarranted insult. And so did Melissa. And so did Thomas. And so did you."

"They all did nothing afterwards, didn't they? They unleashed Thomas' hunger on tousled step-father Sy and fucked him up good, and left it that. They thought Melissa knew what she was doing, thought it didn't matter. And you just followed their lead."

Greta stood, turning away from Annie. "This comes straight from the Pale Mistress. But it doesn't matter if it didn't. I know what she thinks about people playing little head games with the rules. If she was in seclusion I'd have come here just the same. The message is, cut it the fuck out. Jesus' blood, I don't know how Melissa thought she'd get away with something like this."

Because she was spoiled and hadn't had any serious opposition yet, obviously. People do this sort of thing because it works, and it carries on working when they're turned. Melissa had before poached favourites of weaker vampires, staying within the letter of the agreements, but taking advantage and seeing if they resisted. A desirable human, favourite of a fledgeling vampire, drained instead of taken as their thrall, and their patron declining to take an issue of it in the absence of a formal bond.

Whereas Carlos, only a few decades older than Melissa but quiet and little active in the politics of our Mistress' court, already served usefully in his way, providing reliable couriers and occasional transportation -- and take-away food which lit the jaded palettes of some older vampires. And asked for little except for protecting the miniature little fief he'd created. When Sy had been taken, after Carlos had failed to show deference to Melissa at one of my Mistress' banquets, Carlos hadn't played the slow game status games of one-upmanship, but gone straight to one of my Mistress' most senior thralls, and petitioned for action.

And my Mistress passed tasked me with telling them, don't do that. It needed to be nipped in the bud before Melissa overreached herself further and started violence that couldn't be put down with stern words. She was still sloppy by vampire standards, if she couldn't judge which ways it was safe to push a rival and which it wasn't. If she insulted a senior vampire next, there might not have been any warning, they'd likely have come forcefully and taken payment in blood for the first small insult, so everyone knew not to fuck about with them, and dared my Mistress to tell them they shouldn't.

Annie was just looking at Greta with nothing to say, and Greta shrugged. She knew nothing further would probably come of it. Melissa would revert to picking on enemies weaker than her, hopefully her self-preservation would outweigh her pride and she wouldn't push Carlos any further.

Leaving Annie chastened, Greta left her with a head mulling over the warnings she'd received. Greta wouldn't mention the matter to Melissa yet, but let her hear it from Annie later. She stepped smartly downstairs, and back into the living room.

None of the other vampires had woken yet, though Greta saw life beginning to stir in Susan's eyes, and as she walked into the middle of the room, she shouted "wake up".

All three were on the point of waking and jerked alert instantly. Melissa, off balance, fell forward, her reflexes catching her gracefully before she landed on her face, but not quite easily enough to make it look like she'd meant to.

Greta smirked. If Melissa had been ready for it, she could have held herself upright at any angle, or rolled to her feet, but she'd been busy being queen bee and not ready for a physical challenge. It was still unbelievable they didn't want servants to live in who could protect them every day

Susan and Thomas were glaring at Greta, showing a little bit of a snarl, but making any serious moves to attack her. Melissa rose elegantly to her feet, looking Greta directly in the eye. She waved Susan and Thomas back into their chairs.

Greta let the silence hang just a moment, then cut Melissa off just before she had a chance to speak. "Your Pale Mistress sends her regards."

She hesitated a second, sizing Greta up, and decided to let it go. "Greetings to you, and our Mistress. May we offer you refreshments?"

That was more hospitable than Greta had expected. "Do you mind if I mix my own?" she asked, heading for the drinks cabinet at the side of the room. She wanted to lower the tensions a notch, but didn't want Melissa to summon the servants and find out they were all missing. She splashed gin generously into a tumbler, topped it off from a fresh bottle of tonic, and politely put them back. The other vampires watched her cautiously.

Greta settled into an unoccupied armchair and marshalled her thoughts. "Next month's banquet, there has been a change in schedule." Or rather, her dear Mistress Elisabeta delegated the scheduling of the irregular formal meals to Greta, or to one of her thralls, mostly Mr Bantram, who had been installed as Trinity's catering manager. And Greta always left the arrangements as late as possible to accommodate any of her Pale Mistress' last-minute whims. "My Mistress would be delighted to grace you with her presence at a banquet in her honour. The second Friday of next month, at the usual time. You will provide the refreshments, talk to the catering manager at Trinity if you have any specific questions."

Melissa was looking angry, but there was no helping it. Once a month, a few senior vampires in the area held a dinner, the hosting rotating round each nest or domicile in an irregular fashion. And in theory they were held at the Pale Mistress' command, although only about half the time did she actually sally forth through the narrow out-of-time streets, rattling out from Trinity in an archaic carriage laid in for her travel. Other times she made her presence felt via one of the senior thralls she kept close to her like Dean Wintrell, or whichever of the other senior vampires currently stood highest in her trust.

Hosting her Mistress was the price Melissa paid for living under her protection, whether she wanted to or not. A month was short notice, but not unusual.

"You will be due to provide sustenance for the Pale Mistress." Greta continued. In addition to the mundane refreshments a part of the obligation was providing a thrall or victim for the Mistress to feed from. The Pale Mistress didn't do her own hunting, her vessels were brought to her, at a banquet, or delivered to her crypts to order. The leftovers sustained the vampires in her direct household, like Beata the hulking Trinity cellarer, Margery Fensnake the discreet assassin, Miguel the clever accountant, and Greta herself. "She's likely to be hungry, so choose someone you can afford to lose."

Greta bowed to Thomas. "You were very generous sharing dear Sven with her six months ago. My personal condolences. My personal recommendation is that she is still satisfied with you, and a similar sacrifice is not needed again, if you provide an acceptable meal, it will not be taken as an insult if it is not one of your personal favourites."

None of them looked happy, but Thomas nodded reluctantly, and Melissa thanked Greta for the honour with less animosity than she'd had to start with.

"Apply to Miguel if you have any need of funds," Greta added. Her Mistress still loved physical gold more than abstract wealth, especially since any human's wealth was hers for the asking, but since the wide adoption of paper money and commercial investments, Miguel had arranged for more practical investments as well. And sought to plant a steady supply of locally controlled successful human enterprises that could be tapped for greater wealth at need. So liquid funds were available if they were needed, though of course if Melissa asked her Mistress' household for aid she would show weakness.

After a respectful pause Susan asked some practical questions about the guests and appropriate thralls, drinks, foods. Vampire banquets tended to involve many types of fancy food in very tiny quantities, many opulent and baroque drinks, and servants ready to succour the guests as needed. Greta answered as best as she could, but nodded approvingly, and directed Susan to talk to Bantram the catering manager, whose advancement and death grip on a not very glamorous job depended on a firm grasp of keeping our Pale Mistress' appetite pleased.

Greta made small talk for another minute, bringing Susan and Thomas into the conversation, and letting Melissa settle. And then, she introduced a new topic. "There is a security matter."

She let that sit there for a moment, wondering if Melissa would rise to the bait. Susan and Thomas instinctively deferred to her, but she didn't let any worry show, she simply asked what the problem was.

She let any doubts build while she seguing slowly into the new topic. 

"A human was found drained in Milton. It looks like a vampire lost control. Not any of Joanna's vampires, nor has anyone else claimed it under any of the other hunting entitlements."

Greta watched for any reaction from Melissa or the other vampires, but they didn't let any show. "I assume none of you know anything about it?" She didn't expect any acknowledgement, Melissa controlled the others too well for any of them to have been overcome with the thirst and attacked a human without right, and without reporting it and offering reparations after. Joanna was too careful of her rights for Melissa to play the sort of game she'd tried with Carlos. And she naturally tended to play the rules and keep everything deniable, not to know when to make a bold and unexpected stroke.

"Of course not," said Melissa smoothly, remembering to look at her underlings for confirmation. Greta stared each of the vampires down in turn to see if anything shook lose, but none of them added anything. Melissa had them reasonably well trained at controlling their reactions.

"My Mistress suspects vampires gone rogue from Ely," she continued. "The Bone Baron's fledgelings have stopped in Cambridge before, when they're weak enough or young enough to be hit with travel sickness so soon." Still no reaction.

"Have you heard anything of any rogue vampires?" she asked again, and again was met by three smooth denials. Even inexperienced vampires could lie nearly perfectly when they were prepared, but Greta didn't expect Melissa to have anything to gain by upsetting the normal balance of power amongst the Pale Mistress' vassals.

"Dean Wintrell spoke to one of the Bone Baron's senior thralls at the Cathedral. Her thrall told us there were no missing vampires, but if any turned up, the Bone Baron formally renounced any protection over them, and we were explicitly permitted to eliminate them." Greta left unspoken the implications. The thrall wouldn't have been able to give such a precise answer unless her Mistress had already disavowed the rogues.

Also in Greta's mind was that the Bone Baron's harsh rule grew more resentful vampires, who conceived ideas of going rogue and hunting with no overlord, or dreams of overthrowing their masters and trying futilely to live in harmony with humans. There had been those kind popping up in Cambridge too, but she didn't bring up the possibility to the younger vampires. Melissa aspired to take over the hierarchy, not upset it, and Greta didn't want to give the ideas more currency than she needed to.

"Very well," Greta summarized. "Please keep an eye out. Ask any thralls or human contacts you have to report any possible sightings of unknown vampires. I am alerting other nests," those vampires senior enough, or difficult enough they merited more personal attention than a telephone call. "DCI Carslow is watching for any other human deaths. Carlos' couriers have been instructed to look for any houses which have been newly boarded up, or had their windows covered."

"Your Mistress will look favourably on you if you contribute to the security of her territory in this way," she finished. She knocked back her drink and held it out for a refresh, which after a glance from Susan Thomas reluctantly rose to refill.

"There is one more security matter that concerns my Mistress," She added. "A few nights ago, a group of students somehow found a way into the cellars and broke through into some of the outer catacombs. It was to their extreme misfortune that the Pale Mistress was nesting there that night. One died, and the rest are injured or traumatized, retrieved by college staff as the victims of a tragic misadventure and placed in Addenbrooke's hospital to receive appropriate councilling. They showed surprising ingenuity at breaching the outer defences."

Again Melissa just held my gave silently, but Greta waited her out. Eventually she spoke up, "I know nothing about this. Is there any assistance our Pale Mistress seeks from us?"

"Not at this time. Merely, report promptly if you hear anything relevant. And remind your underlings" -- and more specifically yourself -- "never even consider contriving such an incident to trespass on territory not your own. Our Mistress' boundaries are not subject to such games, nor her patience."

Susan and Thomas had no comment on being called underlings. Greta sensed the message sank in to them even if Melissa hadn't accepted it yet.

"There's one more thing." She kept probing to no result. "You have probably heard the premier of Felixstowe fell to infighting."

Greta glanced at the others, and Susan lent forward to fill in the details. "Two other senior vampires attempted a coup. The premier was killed, but they suffered a falling out. One was killed by humans, a possible exposure. It made the human news, though was reported as a tragic accident when the police were responding to an incident. The other is missing."

"Exactly." Susan had nearly as good intelligence as Greta did. Greta guessed she was more used to using a telephone, or even a smart-phone, than most older vampires. Greta watched for any sign she'd heard word of this next bit. "Our Pale Mistress has received a message from our sovereign, the Ruin Queen, the Duskmoth of Wolverhampton. She reminders other premiers not to risk drawing attention to ourselves by allowing similar risky action. There's several called out by name."

"And she calls a tourney," Greta repeated the exact phrasing, "a competition of wits and arms in Birmingham. Embassies from the premier of any territory are welcome, under the usual rules of hospitality and guest-rights. The triumphant premier will gain ruling and settlement rights and the concordant responsibilities in Felixstowe, for a period of three decades."

She added to Susan, "That includes land between the Orwell and the Deben. Negotiatations with territories to the south to agree sharing arrangements for the Shotley peninsula."

Melissa wasn't focussing on the contractual details, she was focussing in on something else. "If such a gracious gift were bestowed on our own Pale Mistress, she would need a representative in Felixstowe in her stead." Yes, indeed. Dangling such bait was a prime way of getting a reaction from her vampires. Melissa would not be a terrible choice, old enough to have some authority, not yet entrenched in Cambridge enough to be unwilling to leave. Competent, but far from powerful enough to gain enough sway in a new territory to rival our Mistress.

But Greta's Mistress knew that better than Melissa did, and Melissa cut herself off before asking if she had anyone in mind. She'd have been better to avoid showing her interest at all, but now she switched smoothly to another line of questioning. "Does my Mistress wish any service from our household in the performance of this royal embassy?"

Yes, indeed. Ambitious and disposable, at least one of them was likely to feature, and Greta hinted as much. Melissa's well-hidden lust for real responsibility would drag her to provide any service she could, whether she stood to gain anything specific or not. But it was the way of the hierarchy, and the Pale Mistress would indeed value them slightly more for as many centuries as they were content to continue to serve as underlings.

Greta murmured something non-committal but potentially encouraging, and chatted with the others for a while about possible combinations of an entourage.

"And one last thing," she added, when she was ready to leave. "I already talked to Annette about it, I'll let her describe it all to you."

Melissa sat regally impassive, but Susan rose to go through the polite motions of leaving. Greta thanked them for the drink, handing the empty glass to Susan and grinning inside as she took it automatically, and congratulated them on the honour of hosting the Pale Mistress' next banquet.

Shortly after, she was striding out of the door. She was glad to see the constables had got their charges out of sight, and none had tried to return.

Her next call was to the renegade vampire Lakshmi, who had squatted in Cambridge for two hundred years without accepting the Pale Mistress' authority. She would leave it a bit longer after dusk before calling on the older vampires she needed to treat with careful courtesy. Most of the older vampires had live-in servants who would back them up if she tried to push them around, and calling too soon after dusk could be construed as disrespectful, or at least force her to make polite small-talk with their thralls while she waited for them to shift out of their day forms.

She headed back to the centre of town at a slow jog, coat flapping about her, and met no more constables.


	2. Chapter 2

Greta waited until Senate House Passage was temporarily clear of humans, and threw herself up the side wall of Caius, scaling as fast as she could. Massively increased strength with decreased mass was a win for vampire athletics. Vampires had grown wary in the last decade, with technology like CCTV which couldn't be wiped with a glance becoming common, but even if someone got a video of Greta climbing, drunken scholars had been scrambling over stonework here since she'd turned.

Pulling herself onto the roof, she looked around, and it seemed the alley was still clear. She waited a moment just far enough back from the edge to be hidden from any eyes happening to glance upwards, and then took a flying leap across to senate house. Her coat flying out behind her, she admitted to herself, if she was ever outed to humanity, it would be nice if it was of one of those moments.

Her boots scraped on the Senate House roof as she landed, and crouched into the warm shadows. After hundreds of years in Cambridge, the old yellow stone seemed like a close friend.

Greta stalked round the edge of the roof until she found the place she was looking for, a plinth that had long ago held a giant stone vessel instead hosting a human sized leering gargoyle. It was modelled after a tiger-like Hindu Rakshasa, a demon with mouth curled around two twisted fangs, matching horns protruding up from behind its ears. It crouched on three furry paws, a fourth raised expressively to the sky, and two furred bat-wings folded behind its forelimbs. Lakshmi's dayform was an older, more robust shape which had inspired Melissa's original patron to encourage her and her cousins to develop their statue forms. She had maintained it for over a hundred years, with occasional breaks.

Safely hidden from the street, Greta sat back against the sloping roof, boots planted against the stone balustrade round the edge of the roof. Fishing in her coat's pockets, she turned up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the previous owner and grinned with satisfaction. Humans were kind to her in more ways than one recently. And they had their own versions of the thirst.

She lit one, and lit another and offered it across to Lakshmi. The raised stone paw twisted slowly, as the fingers curled painstakingly into fist with the thumb peeking through, raising the ancient obscene gesture at Greta.

Greta shrugged and tossed the cigarette down to the flags below. She waited a minute, but no further commentary was forthcoming. "There's new vampires in town. Rogue, and maybe feral. My Mistress wonders if you would like to help hunt again."

One of her talents was hunting down vampires. But though her stone form shifted a little, she made no response.

"Is there any little favour you'd like?" Greta prodded.

Stone ground as Lakshmi turned her head slightly to glare at Greta. "Not like that. My Pale Mistress is not going to give you your heart back for one more little favour. I doubt she'll relinquish her hold on you, not ever. But out here in all weathers... if there's any little favour I can do for you, it's not out of the question."

Greta gestured vaguely. "Um, would you like a hat? Some human food? A wireless radio? You could ask for hunting rights, you know. Or get them granted and then not exercise them. Keep a few humans safe."

Lakshmi glared at her again but still said nothing. "You can't keep dodging, you know," Greta continued. "Eventually my Mistress will lose patience. She'll crush your heart and that will be that." Two hundred years ago, Greta's Pale Mistress had discovered Lakshmi roosting here, and directed her to drill into her chest and remove her heart. She'd been weak from sustained travel then, near impossible to rouse. They'd assumed it would kill her, but vampire and heart had lived on separately. And Greta's Mistress had used the vampire-hating vampire as a vampire hunter from time to time since, whenever the lever of threats or sufficiently tempting bait could move her.

Greta pushed harder. "I thought you'd devoted yourself to killing vampires. What's wrong with these ones? Your little quest could be snuffed out at any time. She'd take your heart. She probably has the strength to ground it into powder with her own limbs. Or just use a hammer. Or she'd send some thralls up here in the daytime with crowbars and sledgehammers, throw you off the roof to smash and give the humans a puzzle. See if you bother to run away when you know she'll kill you as soon as you do."

The stone wings rustled again, and the gargoyle head turned slightly to regard Greta. "I have served your Pale Mistress," she grated in the guttural tones of stone scraping on stone. "As I served the British Raj in India, and saw the atrocities they wrought. As I served great kings before that, who were monsters in their own little domains before being swept away by the private armies of the East India Company. As once, long ago, I served my mortal husband, sweating in the fields and in our bedroom, never knowing an alternative."

"It made little difference when I was turned, I served before, I served after. And yet once I was turned against my will, and killed the one who took my days, I killed all of the many rulers I was forced to serve, as I never killed my husband, and they are gone into dust. And India struggles to mature, and Britain struggles to forget its disgraceful past, and yet in some ways, the world struggles haltingly into the light."

"But you and your mistress still live in the dark like a festering growth feasting on humanity, a cancer killing humans and turning humans into more vampires who take yet more away from them. And Yet with the crass cunning to control the rate of growth so you do not kill your victim in its entirety. You will die too, in your turn."

"All vampires kill. Constantly. A harem of victims, drained slowly over decades, steadily growing larger as the earliest victims succumb to the same thirst and start to require victims of their own. You kill. Your Mistress' thralls kill. The vampires you mention, that you think of as young, have been killing humans steadily for fifty years. And your Mistress has killed beyond imagining. You will both be killed in turn, as her own spawn turn on her and rise up to become another copy of her, and another, and another, spreading forever."

Greta shrugged. She knew all that. She and her Mistress would both die, together, or one going on without the other for more time.

Stone creaked as Lakshmi turned her granite neck a little further, looking at Greta. "Although if fortune be kind, she will be killed before that happens, and a wave of humanity will close over her followers, and becoming that tiny bit more safer. I will aid it, as soon as she gives me an opportunity."

Greta shrugged again. She knew that as well.

"I have stayed in this form as long as I can," Lakshmi continued. "A still statue, I do not need to kill humans. But I do need to kill vampires. I have prolonged my retreat by killing those who deserve it, who your Mistress is willing to let me kill. But this hateful détente cannot continue for a millennia. Did you say, you become rats, Greta, sometimes during the day? Can you live as rats, on food and blood not from humans, never turning back to a vampire? It is not a great life, but it is a better life than preying on your human sisters. Or you can follow me, develop a stone form as I have."

"It won't happen," Greta told her.

But Lakshmi still persisted. "Do not dismiss it, little Gretel. It can happen. It's not easy, but who you are now doesn't have to be who you are. Things change, they can change at any moment. With your cigarettes and carefully chosen clothes, you can rejoin humanity somehow. You don't need to do anything, just walk away from who you are now."

That echoed in the air for a moment, and then, "The hunt, will you help or not?" asked Greta firmly.

Lakshmi didn't reply, and Greta watched her to see if she moved again, but the stone remained still, head still twisted slightly towards Greta. She regarded it for a while, wondering what she'd been thinking. Then kicked back, leaning against the rooftop, smoking the rest of her cigarette, and then another one.

When there was still no response, Greta started talking again. She didn't talk about anything important, but talked about her hunt in Norwich, the things that weren't secret, but that she had reason to talk to anyone else. The casual disregard the senior vampires showed for a foreign enforcer. The constant caution, always being more polite than necessary, but ready to fight without hesitation if she needed to. The unseemly brawl with the rogue fledgeling in a quiet street, rolling in the gutter, trying to finish the fight before they were seen. She added some gossip about the Cambridge vampires, that she judged Lakshmi would not find objectionable. It was a war of words, undeclared. But after two hundred years, hatred can burn less bright, each opportunity no longer looks like the last, and every enemy who looked like a person was a reason to hesitate, so Greta talked.

"I took this coat off a human in Norwich," she added. "Didn't kill him or anything, and he was really annoying." She paused again. "I suppose that's not a convincing example of vampire human fellowship." She thought some more. "Some students broke into the Pale Mistress' lair. We took the survivor to Addenbrooke's without killing her." That didn't really drive home her magnanimity either and Greta lapsed back into silence, looking out at Great Saint Mary's and across the dark college rooves.


	3. Chapter 3

Greta's next stop was Addenbrooke's hospital, clearing up some of the loose ends from the previous incidents. It was far enough she took a car. She reached the taxi rank before she saw anyone with a private car, so she swung myself into one and ordered the driver on her way, tuning out her chatter about too many speedbumps, and too few fares, and too many politicians, and too few changes for the better. At the hospital the driver stopped in front of out-of-hours reception, complaining about the difficulty of navigating the site, and Greta looked into her eyes and assured her he'd been paid appropriately.

As she climbed out and her took off, the conversation with Lakshmi nagged at her and she remembered the driver's complaints about fares. She could have found money elsewhere, and paid for the taxi like a human, if she'd remembered in time.

Addenbrooke's is a maze and Greta didn't even try navigating it without a guide. She burst in the doors and shouted for attention, running her gaze over the the woman behind the reception desk and the scattered patients seated around reception, calming as many of them as possible. "Who knows where ward 45 is?" she called. "Come on people, hand up if you know. Who wants to take me there?"

Lots of people just looked confused, but one middle aged man in an unseasonal Christmas approached her eagerly. His wife was coming to pick him up but not for another half an hour, and he'd enjoy helping.

Greta told everyone else to forget anything unusual had happened, paying special attention to the receptionist, and got helpful Christmas-jumper-in-autumn to lead the way. He chattered away about his operation and his wife, and she let him talk. He asked who she was visiting and she gave him a vague answer and asked him about his wife again.

When she found the right ward she told him to forget her, but she needed to really push on him to get him to go away without talking more. Even then he pressed a blackcurrant and aniseed lollipop on her, one of a supply he'd apparently brought. "I wasn't sure what to do with them, and then I remembered how many people get medical procedures and don't even get a lollipop afterwards." Apparently he chatted the same way, whoever he was talking to, however urgent something was. 

A single nurse sat at the front of the ward, busily trying to catch up on paperwork. He was already looking at Greta and her helpful guide, about to tell her to come back in visiting hours. She quickly turned her attention to him, and told him to forget he'd seen them arguing, and asked him about Sy.

He immediately reeled off a summary of Sy's condition. His physical injuries were healing fine, but he was sleeping a lot, and experiencing confusion and dizzy spells. The fact that the nurse remembered without looking it up indicated one of the vampires had arranged for him to keep an eye on Sy. Greta probed, asking him who had given him instructions, but her was vague, just "they" had, or "we need to". It had been deftly handled, and Greta approved, she wasn't sure if she needed to cover the incident over further. She guessed Carlos had arranged it, he had reasonable finesse when he exerted himself and wanted to take care of Sy, but maybe Margery or one of the Pale Mistress' other servants had.

Greta had the nurse point her through the ward to Sy's bed, and told him to forget her as well. He was asleep, lying in tangled covers. On the little stand by the side of the bed was a little row of glass bulbs, each with a small flower stood in, which Greta recognized Carlos' hand in. He'd been sad to lose Sy, and Greta had heard he'd made an effort to take care of Sy beyond the immediate hospital stay. Even though it was inevitable that Sy wouldn't be drawn further into the vampire world now.

Of course, if he continued as Carlos' servant, paramour, vein-donor, he might have wound up in a bed exactly like this anyway, whatever rosy future Carlos intended. At any time Sy might be drained too deep, if Carlos momentarily lost control of the thirst, or became fearful of Sy leaving him, or was forced to lend him to the Pale Mistress or another senior vampire, and he would lose whatever extended youth or promise or turning his service as a thrall would buy him.

But though vampires tended to avoid their own unpleasant leavings, if they harmed someone they'd once cared about, they could rarely bear to let go anyone who had been taken from them. Carlos wasn't a loudly ambitious vampire, content to live his immortal life without moving up or down the hierarchy. But he was possessive of his people. Melissa would have done better to push him in a less confrontational way first and he might not have pushed back. But Melissa aped the senior vampires, who didn't like to admit fondness for inferiors at all, and it didn't occur to her often enough to push people on the weak spots they actually had, rather than the ones she expected.

Greta looked down at Carlos, and gently laid a hand on his forehead, but he didn't wake. Usually there wouldn't be any need for her to pick up after Annette and Thomas after they disposed of someone, but given the mess of overlapping hunting rights and responsibilities, she needed to check everything had been taken care of. No witnesses or relatives stirring up trouble. Appropriate care for the victim if they were not immediately terminated; my Pale Mistress didn't want a rash of neck injuries and blood loss cases to draw the attention of the constabulary en mass. 

But everything seemed in order, so Greta decided it was more risk than it was worth to question Sy further. She tore a strip of paper off the medical notes at the foot of the bed, and wrote a note to him, offering her personal best wishes, and offering assistance on behalf of my Pale Mistress if there was anything particular he needed. There was little chance he'd take it up, if he allowed himself to remember his entanglement with the vampire community, he'd know any such offer probably had ever more strings attached. But even if it meant nothing to him, Greta hoped it would help a little.

* * *

She asked the nurse to point her to point her to the private room where her Pale Mistress' household had stashed the surviving intruders of the ill-fated excursion into her catacombs. The nurse immediately pointed the way, and also pulled out a small sports bag, and handed it to Greta. He was still confused about exactly who, but said that the "thin one" had asked him to hold this for "um, you, I guess".

She rummaged in the bag, and found a lab coat and stethoscope, and silently thanked Fensnake for her foresight. Glancing through the rest of the bag, it had a cache of other equipment, food, water, a plastic bag full of twenty pound notes, and a low end mobile telephone in case someone needed to stand guard over the student during the day to smooth over any official interest. Bundling the lab coat and stethoscope under her arm she handed the rest back to the nurse and told him to go back to keeping the rest of the country's blood supply healthy.

As soon as Greta was out of sight she folded her coat over her arm and slipped on her simplistic doctor disguise over the rest of her clothes. She wouldn't make a convincing doctor, but a little was enough to help an idea stick. And-- something didn't quite add up in the events as described by her fellow members of her Mistress' household, and she needed a light touch if she wanted to extract more of the story from the students, not merely obliterate their account with the version she impressed on them. 

She sought out the students. The two who had been uninjured were here, visiting Ms Mooney. According to Margery, one had died, but had been quietly shipped back to his family for burial, and a temporary story had been put about that it was for recuperation, allowing the breadth of the tragedy to come out more slowly later. Greta approved of the careful arrangements, but wanted to make sure everything had held together as well as Margery thought it did. Beata and Miguel wouldn't have been much help.

The two uninjured students had found uncomfortable hospital chairs in the corridor outside Ms Mooney's room, and were chatting quietly when Greta approached them. The boy immediately stood up. "Henry Watson," he greeted her, the sort of person who assumed everyone cared who he was.

"Hello, I'm Doctor, um, Bludwald," Greta subbed in.

He gestured to his companion. "This is Zara."

He seemed to expect something, and Greta found the temptation irresistible. "Like the..." she began, and as she'd expected Zara jumped in to cut her off before she needed to commit herself to like what. She guessed they weren't talking about the Hebrew or Arabic origins.

"Yes! Like the clothing store. And like Prince William's cousin."

"You can talk," Zara turned on Henry. He'd obviously been taunting her about this for a long time, with the easy assurance of someone who's high social status could be taken for granted. "You are a cousin to most of the royals."

"Oh well," he smirked. Almost everyone is.

"I'm not," put in Greta confidently before she could stop herself. Well, she probably was some very distant cousin to the electress Sophie, but she had five hundred years less interbreeding than most English people.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," said Zara. "He gets me like that. Was there something you wanted."

"Oh yes," said Greta confidently. "Just to check on Jo. This happens to be my shift time." She put a little power into her gaze as she said it. "And if I can-- you were both there when she was injured, yes?"

"Yes," said Henry. "Well, she crawled down this tunnel, I told her not to. But I saw it collapsing."

Greta flicked her eyes to Zara. "Yes. Well, I think so," she said.

"Oh?" Greta asked neutrally. "You think so?"

"She doesn't remember anything," announced Henry.

Zara nodded shamefacedly. "I was at the party. Then-- well, I don't really remember anything else. I woke up at home."

"You did?" asked Henry. "Did you come home from the hospital?"

Now Zara looked uncertain. "I don't think so?" she said.

"This was all your idea, you know," returned Henry.

Greta glanced between them. "Henry. Jo has had some disturbing dreams since her accident. That's not at all unusual. But it might be useful to hear what happened from someone else, just to be sure I have everything straight before I talk to her about it."

"Of course, Doctor," he said, his urge to talk completely overriding any discretion he might have. "We were all drinking in my room, with some of Dylan's friends. The first and third, you know?"

"The rowing club," put in Zara.

"Yes," agreed Henry, annoyed at the interruption. "We were running low on wine," he continued. "Zara said, she'd found some keys in the buttery, they might lead into some of the cellars. There's wine laid down there for centuries, you know!"

"Yes," said Greta. "I know. You were going to steal some?"

"Oh no," said Henry. "It's not really stealing. It was just a bit of a lark."

"So..." Greta prompted.

"Well, the four of us went off to see if the buttery was open."

"Is that right?" Greta asked Zara.

"I think so," she said. "I really don't remember any of last night. I remember the start of the party, and I remember waking up needing to run down the corridor to the toilets, and... not much else."

Greta turned her attention back to Henry. He described opening a few locked doors as somehow a heroic adventure which he'd been leading, but reading between the lines, it seemed like most of the key suggestions had come from Zara. Greta paid close attention to exactly what they'd seen, and it seemed they'd found a disused corridor, abandoned for structural unsoundness, that connected to some of the inner crypts. Greta visualized the route as it related to the rooms she knew, the plain kitchen storage cellars, and the inner crypts where her Mistress laired most of the time.

The wine cellars existed, but in the opposite direction, under the newer parts of the college.

By then, Henry didn't have a lot more to add. They'd found a break in a stone wall, the ceiling firmly but crookedly propped up. Zara had prompted them to explore through it. Dylan, boasting as if big muscles somehow helped crawling into narrow passageways had insisted on going first. Jo, with a few jokes about Dylan's bottom, had insisted on following, and Zara had gone after them.

Henry had waited long enough to give them room for him to follow, but then the screaming had begun, and moments later the broken wall had further collapsed, closing the narrow passage they'd passed through. He'd panicked, and fled, but in a burst of common sense, had alerted the first people he'd seen to some sort of underground collapse, and the college porters had rushed to investigate, and Greta knew, also alerted her Mistress' household.

"Is that all," she asked, but neither had any more to add, and she told them to go back to chatting, and knocking politely, pressed on into Jo's room.

She'd been lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. "Hello Jo," said Greta, doing her best calming impression, but Jo recoiled in the bed as she saw her, cringing into a ball at the head of the bed.

Greta stopped abruptly, trying to seem non-threatening. Prompted by an uneasy sensation, she asked "Do you... recognize me?"

Jo didn't reply, but her muffled sobs were answer enough. Greta fixed her with a steady calming gaze. "It wasn't me," she said. "I don't know who you saw, but it wasn't me."

That was an expedient lie. If people are inclined to trust you, they seized on the convenient explanation, however ridiculous it might be. Jo slowly relaxed. "It really wasn't you?" she asked.

"No," reassured Greta. She spent a few minutes establishing her identity as a doctor, and then tactfully asked Jo if she wanted to tell her story.

Modelling herself after Salim, the vampire counsellor, she asked "How do you feel?" trying to make it sound like she really wanted to know.

Jo responded obligingly. "Tired," she said. "Tired. Sleepless. Scared."

Greta made sympathetic noises, and taking an educated guess, asked if there were dreams. Jo made a non-committal motion of her head. "Yes, but I don't remember them. I'm more, sitting up, remembering. What didn't happen, but feels like it did."

In her best councillor voice, Greta asked, "What does it feel like you remember?"

Jo hesitated a moment more, but Greta waited, and her words spilled into the silence.

The first part of her story matched Henry's. They'd moved through the buttery without running into any of the staff, and the key Zara indicated unlocked the door. They'd descended a narrow wooden staircase into a stone basement, filled with bulk kitchen supplies. Jo had noticed a stack of very light boxes in front of an old, warped door in the corner. Zara guessed they were there to make the door look unused, and Dylan sprang forward to lift them aside.

The door was unassuming, quite small with peeling paint, but it's lock was unusual, and it had the air of leading out of a catering supplies basement into older passages. Dyland guessed it led to the wine cellars. Henry pointed out it was too old, but Jo wondered if there might be old treasure or something. Zara found a key that fit, and everyone pushed their way into a stone corridor.

There were several doors off the corridor they couldn't open, but one led into a series of empty rooms. They'd lost their sense of direction by this point. They guessed they were under the college, but couldn't tell where. The rooms looked like they'd been basements and cellars from when the college buildings were first built, but re-purposed later. The rooms had an air of abandonment, objects swathed in dust sheets.

There were some crates, filled with straw and unlabelled wine bottles of dark liquid, but they looked recent, and Dylan pointed out that the fancy wine would have been laid down for decades or more. There was a stack of old paintings, each wrapped in plastic. There was furniture abandoned to mould.

By now the quartet kept pushing on through the network of rooms, until they came to a cramped corridor with a door standing stuck open. Some of the architecture had failed here, the ceiling bowed down, propped up by massive timbers every few feet along the corridor. Seized with curiosity, Jo examined the tunnel, and pronounced it safe, and crabbed her way along it. About half way down, part of the wall had begun to collapse and a section had a horizontal beam inserted into it. Jo thought some of the stones beneath the beam were piled there blocking the way but not supporting the beam, and could be pulled away.

The others shuffled in after her, and set to pulling the blocks away with a will. A dark space was revealed behind. Angling the lights from their phones through the gap, they saw it was a small cubbyhole with a wooden back, with earth showing between its flagstones.

Jo, claiming to be the smallest person present, volunteered to wiggle through the gap, but Dylan insisted on going first. When she pulled herself through after him, she saw the wood was fastened over the cubbyhole, but lightly, and under the pleasant pressure of their warm bodies together the the wood bowed and came loose. When they pulled it away, they saw a dimly furnished room. And hearing nothing more, and feeling they'd trespassed so far already, they pushed the rest of the wood aside and entered the unlit room. She thought Zara began pulling herself through after them, but she wasn't absolutely sure.

Shining their phone lights around, they puzzled over the room. Furniture, very old fashioned, worn, but looking lived in. Massive spider webs with incredibly think strands dangled from the ceiling and grasped at their heads. But they had been pulled back from the furniture so there would be room to sit.

Now, Ms Mooney's voice was starting to break, and it was one of the parts Greta was most interested in, so she told her she was doing well, and told her to take a break for a moment, and then tell the story as calmly as she could. They'd seen something moving in the corners of the room. Dyland had approached, shining his phone torch into the shadows, and seen tiny white spiders creeping onto the floor.

The next bit emerged as broken sentences amidst sobs. Dylan had scrambled backwards, and Jo had hesitated apprehensively, watching the unnatural motion of the spiders, and she'd seen something moving bigger, much bigger. Something had rushed at her, and she was knocked down, pinned under a vast bulk. A pale spider the size of a horse -- Greta's Pale Mistress -- had appeared silently from an adjoining chamber and sprung on the students.

She struggled to breathe under the weight. It's distended proboscis had swung around and however she twisted lowered inexorably onto her neck. A sharp pain, and her vision was greying at the edges, the breath crushed out of her.

The Pale Mistresses' venom induced paralysis and hallucinations, quickly leading to unconsciousness. The last Jo remembered had been seeing Dylan running for the cupboard with the tunnel, and the spider springing off her to cut him off, a vicious blow at the wall collapsing half the tunnel, and him fleeing wildly into other shadowed rooms, and the spider chasing him down unhumanly fast.

She'd drifted in and out of consciousness. She had a vague, horrified sense of the spider swathing Dylan in webbing and beginning to feed. She'd tried to crawl away but been unable to move. She lay there, intermittently waking to hear the Pale Mistress feeding slowly on her friend, until she heard others entering, and hands lifting her.

She vaguely remembered being carried. "You were there. I saw you," she said to Greta.

That tallied with the story Greta had heard from her Mistress' thralls. A junior thrall, serving as one of the college catering staff, had gone to seek the Pale Mistress, and found her feeding on the interlopers. She's summoned the catering manager, and managed to reach one of the other vampires in the Pale Mistress' household. Margery Fensnake had immediately taken charge, and directed Bantram to lead the staff thralls in a search for any other interlopers. Dylan had been drained by then, but the Pale Mistress was mostly sated, and she'd directed the staff to take them both to Addenbrooke's pending further instruction, and to put about a story of a student misadventure and tragic cave-in in an unsafe area.

Once the hunger had gone off her, the Pale Mistress became again distraught, concerned for the possibility that the interlopers had somehow stolen some of her treasures, and could not be consoled until she had driven the staff away from her and checked all the ones she could find.

Beata arrived as the students were being carried out, before the paramedics reached them. Looming over the thralls she'd immediately said that Jo should be put down as well, before anyone else saw her, or taken back to the crypts for Beata to interrogate in the closed cells. But Margery backed up the thralls and stood up to the larger vampire. She said that it would cause more attention and suspicions to have two students die under the college than to downplay the incident.

Fensnake's will had prevailed in the moment, and later the Pale Mistress had commanded Beata to take no further action without her instruction, but for Greta to check the situation when she returned.

Greta mentally compared the stories. Beata and Margery, had acted as she thought. But Jo remembered her being there. And Zara was still a mystery. The others remembered her entering the crypts, but Jo hadn't mentioned her after she saw the Pale Mistress, and a little prodding from Greta revealed no further details. And Zara herself had remembered nothing.

Greta calmed Jo as best as she could, and encouraged her into a mindset of letting go of her confused memories as better not to think about. She checked with Zara and Henry on the way out and reassured them about Jo, and blurred their memories of Dylan a little more. There was no incriminating paperwork in the room, but she made a note for someone to check that again the next day, and went off to find her way out of the maze and onto the rest of her night's appointments.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the course of the night, Greta visited several other vampires, delivering similar messages. Margery and some of her Mistress' senior thralls had telephoned the vampires they could. Miguel had been torn from his accounts to visit several other more junior vampires. Beata had conveyed an abbreviated form of the message to those vampires who only respected strength, but otherwise held in reserve until someone needed the sort of message that they didn't regenerate from.

Annie had pointed out that a facebook group would be a lot more efficient, but Greta had explained in no uncertain terms, that most vampires needed the form of respect, and effort was the best way to show it. And that, sitting in the centre of the web, telling everyone exactly what they needed to know, was what her Pale Mistress did, but pointing it out too loudly was not wise.

Three Greta had left till last. The last two, because she had a relaxed relationship with them, and they would not be offended if she had to cut her visit short. The first of the three, because Greta didn't want to do it, and doing it as close to dawn as she could was marginally safer. Lady Jemisha, sometimes called the Mistress of the Night, or the Crawling Fog, but never in front of her, nor the Pale Mistress, had dwelled in Cambridge a long time. She notionally owed allegiance to the Pale Mistress, but Greta's Mistress was careful never to presume on her subservience.

In a near-disused church, buried down a poorly maintained road, nestled behind forbidding hedges, Greta had pried apart an iron chain securing a gate into an incongruous crypt, once painstakingly sunken into the damp Cambridgeshire soil. The worn inscription over the entrance bore little relationship to its current denizen. As Greta climbed down the stone steps, a dark oily mist roiled around her ankles, impenetrable even to vampire vision.

Sound also echoed oddly, dampened by the mist. It smelt faintly of old blood, and Greta's nose gave her an imprecise impression of the underground cramped, but somehow with an occasional sense of open space where there wouldn't be. As the mist closed above her head, she carefully counted off the steps. When she reached the floor, she slid a half step forward to avoid hugging the stairs, but her foot knocked something that rattled like bones. She cautiously pushed it aside with her foot, and tried to ignore the questions in her mind.

A voice sounded around her in the fog, the mist curling around her as it spoke. "Ah, little Gretel," it echoed. "You have come to visit me once more. Did you bring another book?"

A long time ago, Greta had been reading a newly published romance novel, and carried it with her when she'd visited Lady Jemisha. She'd expressed an interest in it, and Greta had hastily offered it to her as a gift, and every few years since, been careful to bring something similar. She still wasn't sure which offering were most acceptable, but taking a book off the best seller shelves had been accepted so far. At least, she had always walked out again. And she hadn't tested her luck with a paranormal romance since they had become so prevalent.

She extracted the book from an inside pocket of her coat, the first in a series of detective fiction with a strong romance element. She put each in a clear plastic bag to protect it from the damp. She wasn't sure if Lady Jemisha appreciated this, but she hadn't objected. "Ah! I've heard good things about that one," the voice said, and Greta felt the mist curling around the bag in her hands. "Thank you, you are very thoughtful."

Good things from who? Greta had once staked out the entrance drive for nearly two months when she had no other jobs, and she hadn't seen Jemisha leave and no-one else had visited. But clearly somebody did, somehow. And she knew, humans stumbled into the crypt somehow, and Jemisha hunted elsewhere, but Greta didn't know where or how -- she'd never request or been granted any specific hunting rights. Once a whole tour group had disappeared without trace, and the Pale Mistress' household thought Jemisha had taken them in their entirety. The human constables had found no possible way it could have happened, and reluctantly declared every person missing. The vampires didn't know how a single vampire could have taken so many people, but it seemed she had.

Keeping her conversation to a minimum, Greta crouched, starting to place the book on the floor in front of her, but as usual, the voice interrupted her again. "No, stop," it continued. Don't be shy, my pale one. Walk forward. There's a table six paces in front of you. Place the book there."

Carefully showing no fear, Greta stepped deliberately through the mist, constantly sensing for any variation in footing before she shifted her weight, but meticulously avoiding any delay. It wasn't the same direction she'd as last time she was there, but the table was there just as promised. Greta precisely placed the book on it, and turned away from the table, resisting the urge to keeping touching it. She still had a perfect sense of direction, even though she was completely unused to being unable to see or hear an inch beyond her face.

"And it's impolite to hold your breath around someone, don't you think?" the voice breathed heavily, the mist tickling around Greta's face. Greta gritted her teeth. She still hadn't got used to this. But plenty of people, vampires, not just humans, had climbed into the Mistress of the Night's crypt and hadn't come out, so she was always polite and accommodating. She had a couple of white phosphorous grenades stashed away in a cache near her own crypt, which she might throw down here one day if Jemisha ever declared independence from the Pale Mistress. But until then, every visit was, go in, come out, and don't think about it until next time.

Greta relaxed her face and reluctantly began breathing again. Fog coiled oily in her nose and throat, and she made sure to breathe evenly despite it.

Jemisha's fog was not exactly a dayform. Judging from what she'd seen, it was as vulnerable or more to sunlight as a regular vampire's flesh. But it was still incredibly creepy. Greta assumed Jemisha has a humanoid body, but she'd never seen it in several centuries of reluctant acquaintanceship.

"And I assume you have some messages for me as well?" Jemisha asked, the mist slipping in and out of Greta with her breathing, and caressing her ears as it spoke to her. "You always do."

Greta recounted the drained human. It wouldn't have been Jemisha. She had no formal hunting rights, but wherever she obtained victims, they disappeared cleanly with no corpses showing up to cause problems. "But if you encounter any unwelcome visitors, my Mistress stands ready to relieve you of the inconvenience, if you wish it."

The fog gusted gently around her like steady breathing. "I thank you for your courtesy," came the voice again, its precise civility making it clear how unlikely that was. But Greta thought an unexpected visit would not have endeared her Mistress and her to Jemisha.

She didn't mention the student interlopers. Jemisha didn't show concern for the inconvenience of anyone else other than herself. Greta did explain, that the Pale Mistress had been invited to send an embassy to the court in Birmingham, and asked if Lady Jemisha had any recommendations for whom the embassy should constitute?

Talking to older vampires was an art. They always wanted to be asked, but they never wanted to show it. And they could rip you limb from limb if you implied otherwise.

Throaty laughter sounded in the air around Greta. "Not at the moment. But I will let her know if any occur to me," the voice trilled.

"Now, run along. I know you young things always want to be well away from me."

"Thank you, Lady Jemisha" Greta replied, and then stepped smartly, but never too quickly, back across the floor and quickly up the steps. As soon as she was back in the cold night air, Greta swung, pushing the gate closed and pressing the chain together again. She relaxed her iron control on her heart rate. And she flapped her coat around her, feeling the air on her, and reassuring herself she was out of the mist. And walked steadily away.

Next, Greta had a much more congenial visit to make. In one of the narrow alleys off market square, there was an unnumbered door. It had a glass panel, behind which was taped a yellowing notice:

Consultants!  
All topics  
Research (historical, biomedical, mythological)  
Antiquities and repairs, speciality obscure  
Odours, flavours, and identification  
Night security consultants and specialists  
Lodging offered, sought (particular requirements)

Salim had been an itinerant scholar before becoming being turned, and since settling in Cambridge, had started to run an unofficial half way house for younger vampires. Many young vampires had little guidance from their patron, except to increase the patron's notional prestige, and still had desire for the trappings of life. Salim found roles for them to perform, and conversely, extended my Pale Mistress' reach into many far-reaching spheres of Cambridge life, as long as they were obscure.

Careful Helene, a younger cousin and sometime hanger-on of Melissa, restored musical instruments, maintaining the same skills she'd learned more than fifty years ago. Overzealous younger vampires provided occasional night-time security for requests too eccentric for humans. Many talented, eccentric humans of all ages visited Salim's parlour for varied reasons, and Salim and his hangers on eked out a sufficient supply of blood with amazingly few injuries or deaths among humans.

Salim himself had a complicated relationship with Islam, but claimed centuries of listening made him a superb, if unlicensed, counsellor, and offered himself, at eccentric hours and for eccentric fees, to listen to humans talk, and unwind the messes which had become tangled in their brains, with a calming aura and an occasional well-judged hypnotic push.

Greta pushed the door open -- a decades old Feng shui arrangement prevented unwanted visitors from noticing the entrance -- and descended the steps. At the bottom, a twisted corridor spawned rows of interlocked offices, living rooms, sleeping cells, and storage closets. Greta knew other turnings led to above-ground houses where braver vampires or human visitors could also stay for a night or a decade.

The first door on the right stood open, showing a crowd of boisterous young vampires and humans sprawled on sofas and armchairs, gathered around a table. Deeba, who'd fled Pakistan for England, Bradford for Cambridge, her family's traditional Islam for Salim's rampant unconventional beliefs, and human life for an existence as one of his first thralls, and later fledglings, was playing court, and sorting through a bowl full of garlic bulbs.

"Greta!" she called. "Salim is visiting a client, but he said he appreciated you calling. He said you could leave a note if there was anything important."

She rushed forward, air-kissing Greta's cheeks, and Greta smiled inside. It was a treat to deal with vampires she could relax around, at least a little.

"I can do that. Is his office open?"

"Yes," Deeba gushed, "but never mind that. Do you want to play."

Greta smiled smugly. "I'm not sure," she said, but she was already reaching out for the bowl of garlic bulbs.

She'd seen similar games often enough. One of the bulbs had had the incantations said that could repel vampires. It was not an effective defence, but could sometimes be used to temporarily bar entrances to buildings when no resident was there to emplace a more serious barrier. New vampires often played with their weaknesses, usefully learning their extents whether they realized it or not. Here they would each take one, and simultaneously bite down on it, and see who was revolted.

Greta held her hand over the bowl for a moment. Younger vampires couldn't sense it, but with practice she'd honed her ability to sense the faintest tingle, and her hand homed in on a bulb on the top to the right of the bowl. She wasn't sure, but she thought it was the one enchanted. She caught it up and flipped it into the air, catching it in her mount and biting down hard.

The other vampires winced, and then laughed as she showed no reaction. But she pulled the mangled bulb out and tossed it lightly to one of the other vampires who caught it instinctively, and then howled, yanking his hands apart.

The assembled company laughed again as they realized Greta had suppressed her reaction, and she made an ironic bow. The pain wasn't severe, it was more an overwhelming compulsion to stop touching the garlic. But Greta had been able to extract it almost at once, and trained herself not to show her discomfort.

She jerked her head, and dragged Deeba out into the corridor, and round the corner. Lowering her voice enough that even Deeba could only just hear her, she added her opinion of the game. "It's good to practice. It could save some of their lives one day. But don't get stupid and get someone injured,"

Deeba started to protest, but Greta shushed her. "Next time, I guess you were thinking of having them all warded?" and Deeba grinned in return.

"But," Greta added warningly, "be careful of the humans. Make sure you know all the ones who see this kind of thing. Liking them doesn't mean they can be trusted."

Deeba pouted, but accepted Greta's admonition.

Leaving the small living room behind, Greta padded down round the corridors to the small library that had for the best part of a century served as Salim's unofficial office. He was working with Helene and and a couple of humans, semi-thralls, dividing their attention between an architectural diagram of a violin, a piece of orchestral music, and a philosophical treatise with a long polysyllabic title. When he saw Greta, he left the others debating and slipped out of his office, dragging Greta into an adjacent room lined with law books, and a large amateur painting of two barristers fencing with rolled papers.

He ushered her into a tattered armchair and opened a small, surprisingly quiet fridge buried under a pile of papers. From it he extracted a couple of sealed test-tubes of blood. "Would you like?" he asked, offering her one. "It's best to let it warm up a bit first."

Greta hated even room temperature blood, she'd prefer tea or alcohol to old blood, but it was courteous to accept. She took the proffered dial and rolled it her hands to warm it, and seeing her, Salim tutted at himself. "I keep forgetting. I should get more microwaves down here."

Greta made a polite reassurance. He had enough humans popping in and out, she didn't know why he made such a point of storing blood, but it seemed to work for him. Most of his vampire hangers on still owed allegiance via their original patron, but he'd taken quite a few under his wing officially, and somehow he managed to keep his little retreat rumbling along with almost no hunting rights for decades and decades.

Salim settled himself in another armchair, moving a pile of paper and delicately balancing in on previous strata on the chair's arm. "Mr Bantram updated me, but he didn't explain things the way you do, Greta. Is there anything I'm missing?"

Greta quickly recapped the important questions of the night. "I assume you've not heard any indications of any rogue vampires in our Mistress' territory?" she asked.

He told her hadn't, but he'd asked vampires and humans he knew to keep an eye out. He thought it was likely he'd hear something if the rogues were here and they made another attack.

The conversation paused while they both sipped their vials of blood. It wasn't enough to provide significant sustenance, but vampires appreciated the flavour as much as the substance when the thirst wasn't on them strongly. Greta stifled a shudder at the tepid liquid, but the taste itself was refined. She was pleased to see Salim saved tasty drinks for visitors, even if it was wasted on her.

Greta told him about the conversations she'd had with Jo, although for now she left out the holes there'd been in the story. Salim approved of her technique. He said, if Jo avoided thinking about her trauma, it would likely fade, and there would be no need for "harsher action" as he put it. It seemed the others were past that stage already. He asked about the legalities about the boy who died, and Greta told him they still needed to be taken care of, but she or Miguel could handle the coroner if it was needed, and Margery had asked DCI Carslow to intervene if necessary to smooth things over.

She mentioned the embassy to him, and he expressed an interest in seeing Birmingham, but cried off any suggestion he would be involved. "I'll leave the politics to those who deal with it," he said. "And I wish them well of it."

Greta teasingly pointed out that this was to be a tournament, a competition of champions, but he said that was no better. He had no desire to try to fight, or hunt competitively across Birmingham. "Or to second guess riddles that whichever of the Ruin Queen's pet thugs is on top this year thinks are clever."

Greta smiled and gave up. But they chatted about other things for a little bit before Greta took her leave. She told him about Deeba, and he shrugged and said she was learning fast, and she would learn caution in time. He asked her about the gargoyle vampire's ability to find her quarry when she was hunting, and Greta shrugged and said she'd learned no more since the last time he asked. She'd tried to develop the same sense, practising alone in her crypt, but had had no success. And after a few more minutes, he'd politely chivvied her out of the door, saying she wanted to make sure she was home by dawn.

The last meeting before dawn was the most pleasant of the night. Deferential servants, long-term thralls who were Aunt Patricia confidants as well as servants, showed Greta into a large semi-detached house near the river. A curtain was erected in the living room in front of a low couch, and Patricia greeted Greta from behind it.

"Please, sit, sit, my dear," she cooed. "Please do excuse me. I need to be in my day form before the dawn, and I don't really receive visitors like that."

Greta wasn't sure how old Patricia was. She'd been a feature in Cambridge for at least a hundred years, but seemed to know a lot of the figures of the Pale Mistress' court who'd been around before that. She always talked like she was older than everyone, but never displayed any significant strength, or any other enhanced abilities either for that matter. But she knew almost all the vampires in Cambridge, and usually treated them like old friends.

Greta sat politely, and assured Aunt Patricia there was no way she could possible give offence by not rising so close to dawn. Most of the servants left them, but one of Patricia's favourites laid out a small table and began an elaborate tea preparation with cups, jars of tea, a flask of baiju, and a a glass teapot heated with a candle.

"It's a blend of teas," Patricia explained. "Based on a Chinese recipe. You don't usually have Chinese recipes mix tea and alcohol, oh no, but this one does, and I thought you'd like that. It was one of the first to come to England, you know, other than just rotten leaves in boiling water. Even though now everyone brews the tea very differently."

Greta wasn't sure, but Patricia was usually right, and she waited for the enriched tea eagerly. She glanced toward the thrall, and without seeing her Patricia guessed what she wanted to know. "Oh yes, I trust my old friend Evangaline. Do go ahead and tell me the gossip."

Greta smiled at her enthusiasm, and began to share. She described Salim, and how he was just the same as he'd always been, with a new set of eager hangers on, and a new set of interests, but the same infectious enthusiasm. Aunt Patricia described Thomas' attack on Sy as a bad business, and they commiserated over it. She approved of Greta's promptness in handling of the situation, but though Greta was vague about what she'd said to Melissa and her cousins, she tutted doubtfully about how harsh Greta had been.

By now the tea was ready, and Patrica encouraged Greta eagerly to try it. Evangaline poured a large round cup for Greta, and took a much smaller tasting cup around the screen for Patricia. Greta blew on the hot tea out of long habit, but sipped it while it was still nearly boiling, savouring the sharp heat against the smoky tea cut with the sharp taste of Baiju.

Evangaline left them drinking, and as they sipped, Greta asked her opinion about the embassy. Patricia hmmm'd thoughtfully.

"It will probably be four," she opined. "Too many, and it's given to fractiousness and squabbling, with no clear leader. Too few, and it looks disrespectful."

"Have you ever visited the queen?" she added.

"Once," Greta said. "When she was premier of one of the north London territories."

"It's different since London fell," cautioned Patricia. "A friend visited the Queen's court a few decades ago. A disused warehouse in Wolverhampton, done up nice inside. She draws tribute from nearby territories, and others when she can, and supports so many personal retainers, all standing in rows like human guards."

"And scores of thralls, offering themselves or other refreshments to chosen guests," Patrica continued, tutting. "It was winter, and the poor things were half dressed but forbidden from looking cold. But it was quite a spectacle, when the place was full, the whole place filled with moths, and coalesced in the queen already on her throne."

Greta nodded thoughtfully and Patricia continued thinking aloud.

"Our Mistress needs to send a clear leader," she said. "Someone the rest will defer to. Otherwise it is just a mess and our Mistress looks foolish in front of the Queen. Elisabeta would not have it so!"

"And someone the Pale Mistress trusts completely," she continued thoughtfully. "She doesn't trust easily, any more than the rest of us. She couldn't bear the thought of her envoy running off and currying favour with the Queen, and cutting her out. But she could never go herself, it shows too much weakness, and leaves the whole of Cambridge with no leadership, ready to fall under the sway of any older vampires who take the chance."

Greta nodded thoughtfully. That was how she saw it, but she didn't discuss her opinions of her Mistress' plans casually, and hadn't been able to think it through until she heard it aloud.

"And she needs to make sure that if there is anything to this tourney, our representatives will make a good showing", Patricia went on. "The senior envoy needs to decide whether it is possible to make a serious effort to win, in which case she needs to have the right people with her, or better to put up a good showing, but not be seen to try and fail."

Greta shuffled the possibilities in her mind. Perhaps one of her Mistress' thralls, to report back to the Mistress and see her wishes were clearly conveyed. A vampire who could act as a leader, potentially Melissa, but one of the older vampires if there were any her Mistress would be willing to trust. "Do you know what sort of tournament the Ruin Queen is likely to offer?"

Patricia thought for a moment. "The traditional forms. They don't need to change much, even these last few decades. Sparring, or some form of fighting. Something the crowds can watch. Something drawn out, an event spanning multiple days to keep the interest of the court going on. Events to showcase her current favourites, whatever their strengths are. Something unexpected, but not too unexpected, to ensure no-one is ever too confident, and allowing her to tip the competition one way or another."

"Riddles?" asked Greta, thinking of Salim's comment.

"Oh yes," laughed Patricia. "That is quite traditional indeed. But it's not usually an important determiner, it's too subjective and not enough of a spectacle. It's more a chance for those who want to to show off."

They sat for a moment more. "Did you enjoy your tea?" Patricia asked.

Greta assented eagerly. Somehow Patricia always found something unexpected which she loved without expecting to.

"Would you like a sip from Evangeline?" Patrica asked. "Not too much, but more than a sip if you'd like." That took Greta aback, though it shouldn't have. Patricia was always a perfect host, whatever the status of her guest, and it was a polite offer. Only a couple of other vampires had offered her blood this night, feeling like their tribute to the Pale Mistress was more than tax enough and they didn't want to offer more.

Greta didn't want to accept at the moment. Salim's cloyed vial-blood still hung in her mouth, and she wanted to be away and back to her own crypt to sleep. And she didn't like drinking from someone who'd been serving her. She'd rather lock the thirst away until she had the chance to feed properly.

But politeness was everything, especially to Patricia, and Greta accepted enthusiastically. Aunt Patricia summoned Evangaline with a small bell, and, obviously prepared, Evangeline walked quickly into the room and knelt before Greta. She extended her arm, bare to the elbow, and offered it up. After a brief longing glance at her neck, Greta took the arm, and letting her teeth extend, bit delicately at the servant's wrist. Patricia waited approvingly, still reclining on the other side of the screen, while Greta sucked slowly. She drew the blood round her fangs into her mouth, savouring its taste and swallowing deliberately after rolling it in her mouth, careful not to smear it onto Evangeline or herself.


	5. Chapter 5

It was nearly dawn by the time Greta returned to her lair. It wasn't exactly a crypt, but she called it one. It was the basement of a church near Trinity, with a private staircase not entering the church. Greta could usually enter churches, but usually not during services.

The land was owned by Trinity and some time ago her Pale Mistress had had the basement provided to her as part of a steady trickle of grants in return for ongoing service. She could simply have taken over a house elsewhere in Cambridge, but she didn't feel cold and liked being underground. And she liked being under a church which she could have closed against other vampires if ever needed, and she preferred to live being owed than owing.

She shucked her new coat, and looking around a bit, removed an iron pendant that had once taken her fancy from the wall and hung the coat on its hook in its place. A few other things hung on the wall, mostly things that wouldn't suffer if damp crept through the wall. Cut leather in the shape of a pair of bat wings, she'd found once in a shop when she had to travel through London. She'd liked it so much, she'd made the owner wait while she took money from someone else to pay for them. Silent chimes which were supposed to protect her against bad influences. A few bare electric bulbs, hooked over nails in the stone walls.

She sat on the bed and began pulling her boots off. She'd had a productive night, but thought she'd earned sleep today. She took a slug of vodka from a bottle propped on the small counter by the standing sink. It had been plumbed in with some difficulty thirty years ago.

Her Mistress' staff had cleaned, as well as tidying the little sink area and the few things she had left out. She could have kept her own thralls, but didn't want people so close around her. She filled an old electric kettle from the cold tap. It gurgled and sputtered, but spat clean water. When it boiled, she made a bowl of leaf tea, with a splash of heretical milk.

She spent an hour sipping tea and reading, a think novel she'd left behind on her trip. She took novels from bookshops, and changed them out when she wanted another. By then day-weariness had settled deeply into her. She slid a wicker basket that served as a rat bed from under her bed, still filled with clean straw, and a few squeaky toys she liked to chew on.

She retreived the water bowl from the standing sink, filled it, and put it on the floor next to the bed, and sat on the floor next to the bed. She changed. She fell out of her clothes, a bundle of half a dozen chubby rats landing squeaking on the floor. Two of her ran off, one to to crawl through the pipes and hide underground, and one to find one of the small patches of overgrown ground to hide in. Vampires had great regenerative powers from injury, and Greta could eventually regrow herself from a single rat if she had to, though it had been unpleasant when she first discovered it and rare she'd let it happen. So she secreted parts of herself elsewhere, just in case she was attacked in any way. Growing old didn't just happen.

The remaining rats climbed into the rat bed and scurried round themselves a few times getting comfy. One chewed idly on squeaky toy in the shape of a bone. Another climbed out of the bed, sniffed the water bowl, and took a small drink. It climbed back in, and joined the others in a little pile of warm furry bodies, flesh pressed against flesh, and Greta slept.

* * *

Briiiing! Briiiing!

Greta was woken in the early afternoon by the shrill peal of her telephone, an old fashioned rotary phone. Her rats scurried in circles for a moment as she struggled to pull herself together. She reassembled into her human form, weak while she still had part of herself missing, and walked carefully over to the telephone that was still ringing.

"Yes?" she barked.

"Hello, Greta?" said Annie's voice. "It's Annette. Uh..." she sensed Greta's impatience over the telephone. "I'm sorry to wake you in the day. I didn't change into my dayform today, and well, one of the other postdocs I work with, she said one her friends said-- I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

Greta gritted her teeth but didn't snap. Annie would pull herself together quickly, but shouting at her wouldn't help.

"I, um, asked my contacts if they had heard anything about foreign vampires, or anything strange that might suggest vampire interaction. Clare got my message and phoned me back just now. Her friend lives in a shared house in Milton. One of the housemates let some people stay over with them, but they've been there for days and the other housemates are acting really out of character. The strangers didn't go out at all, but didn't spend time with the housemates much either. Clare's friend, Ruth, stayed with another friend the last couple of nights. Do you think they are the Ely rogues?"

"It's likely," said Greta. She thought a moment. "I want to drop in on them now, before dark. What's the address?"

There was silence for a moment. "Are you just going to kill them?" Annie asked.

Greta winced, and replied sternly. "No. If they offer fealty to our Mistress, and I judge them trustworthy, they may be accepted. But they're rogues. If they offer no apology for intruding unannounced, they will be executed, as is their due." Greta waited to see if Annie made any further protest. "Thank you for finding out, Annie," she said. "I'll take care of it."

Annie hesitated another long moment. "Okay." She read out the address.

"That's near the Fen Arms, isn't it?" said Greta. "Can you get Clare's friend to meet me outside the pub?"

"I think so," said Annie. "They all have mobile telephones." Greta ignored the hint. She'd learn how to use a mobile telephone when her Mistress told her to, and not before.

"Okay," said Greta. "I need to report to the Pale Mistress first. I'll be there by three thirty, tell her to be there by then."

She hang up without further ceremony. She padded back to her pile of clothes and sorted through them for her knives, which she strapped on to ankle and hip. Thin wooden knives with sharpened metal tips which could be slipped between ribs to take a vampire's heart and stop it healing. The servants had laundered her other clothes while she was away, and left them in a neat pile in one one of the dresser drawers. She pulled on dark jeans, catching slightly on her knives, and a black T-shirt and long sleeved black sweatshirt, which didn't bind, but lay smoothly with no bagginess to hinder her movement or provide a handhold.

The T-shirt had a white skull on it Greta didn't recognize, which made her smile. The staff periodically provided replacement clothes, and some of them anticipated what Greta might appreciate.

She added socks as another layer against accidental sun exposure. She tested her claws, fingernails lengthening into glossy curved cutting edges, and her finger stiffening against her hand to provide a solid striking base. Vampires could reform their bodies in small ways without taking on a separate dayform, and Greta had practised until she had claws worth fighting with. Her knives were better, but every extra weapon was useful.

With long sleeves, Greta added two smaller knives at her forearms, tucked under he sweatshirt where they wouldn't be seen. Greta pulled out a black cowl, a thin fabric that she slipped over her her head, covering her head and chin down onto her shoulders, and tucked under her sweatshirt. When she pulled on her boots, only her face and hands were exposed.

She glanced round to see if she's forgotten anything. Her remaining rats scurried back through the wall and down the steps and she knelt to take them in her hands and absorb them into herself, regaining her full strength, and gritting her teeth against the incipient daylight.

She gathered up her battle gear as she headed for the stairs. An old sawn-off shotgun in an unmarked black case. Single bullets didn't have much effect on vampires unless you could get hold of newfangled military weaponry, but a shotgun blast could pulp a large amount of vampire flesh in one go. Greta's was loaded with hardened wooden pellets instead of shot.

Her ritual kit, a small black bag she carried with chalk and blessed water and garlic powder, in an airtight plastic wallet, and ritual diagrams, likewise.

And a loose black robe with long loose sleeves she could pull over her hands, and a veil inside the hood she could cover her face with. A fake balsa wood scythe to explain the robe, grasped through the cloth of long sleeve. Nothing makes you stand out in Cambridge.

She trotted up the stairs and set off at a slow jog towards Trinity. The robe's hood flapped irritatingly at the sides of her head and she resisted exposing her hands to try to adjust it. Where the daylight filtered in to her face, or crept into her sleeves to touch her hands, it felt itchy and vaguely nauseating, like an electric shock you couldn't feel. Greta was well-accustomed to blocking it out at need.

She didn't usually enter Trinity in the afternoon, but it was common enough a college porter discreetly hurried her to the entrance to her Mistress' crypts, crossing the sunlit expanse of Great Court briskly and relying on Greta's disguise to avoid arousing any interest from the lazy tourists.

As she descended, she found Margery Fensnake with her booted feet resting firmly on a small desk, her chair tipped back against the stone wall, poring over one of Miguel's folder of letters propped on her knees. One of her Mistress' household often worked near the entrance as an unofficial guard, if they were awake during the day anyway. Else a thrall was stationed there.

Greta greeted her warmly, and asked after her work. Fensnake shrugged. "All normal. I don't see why we have to spend so much time coddling thralls and humans when we can just take what we need."

Greta smiled at the old argument. "It's a lot easier to take when we own them from the start. Nowadays if you just walk off with a pile of money, someone is likely to notice, someone who wasn't there to be hypnotized." The Pale Mistress was used to relying on trusted thralls in key positions in the university, but Miguel's habit of maintaining financial interests in other local organizations had become more useful over time.

As Greta shrugged off her outer cloak, Fensnake took in her battle gear. "It's a bit early for you to come calling," she asked. "What's up?"

Greta filled her in on Annie's report, but that she wanted to report to the Pale Mistress first. "Is she awake?"

"Yes," replied the giant cellarer, looming out of the corridor beyond. "Very. She is in an utter lather since the break-in. We have been turning the crypts upside down, checking none of her treasures are missing -- she has unearthed the gargoyle's three five times, before one of the thralls left her holding it. And many of the smaller treasures, she has forgotten which she has checked and which she hasn't."

"Pretty much," confirmed Fensnake. "Having some concrete action to report is probably a good thing."

Beata turned the weight of her attention to Greta. "Did you interrogate those interlopers?"

Greta gave a brief summary, thanking Fensnake for covering over the situation when Greta had been away. "They knew nothing useful, though we might recover something useful later." She left out any of her uncertainty, it would only fuel the cellarer's suspicion.

The cellarer shook her head grimly. "You are too quick with your clever solutions, Greta. Our Mistress will not be content again until a culprit is found. You had done better to condemn one of them. Once someone is screaming in the closed cells our Mistress will feel the problem is dealt with."

Greta shuddered inside. The cellarer was correct, but pandering to her Mistress' paranoia didn't make her rule any more stable in the long run.

"We're still looking. There is still time to identity a culprit," Greta said, hiding her defensiveness.

The cellarer growled disgustedly deep in her throat, and shuffled past them into the outer crypts.

Greta and Fensnake exchanged a glance. "I still need to report," Greta said. "And get to Milton with enough time before dark."

"Do your best," Fensnake said. "Tell her you've found the rogues who killed so untidily, and you'll hopefully calm her down a bit. And get away without a blow by blow account of your whole night." Greta shrugged.

A couple of minutes later, she strode through the remaining corridors, and found the room her Mistress was currently unearthing. As she appeared, thralls scattered out of her way, and her Mistress' attention was temporarily diverted from her obsessive search. She handed off a handful of small amulets to one of the thralls, and settled imposingly into a large carved chair in the middle of the room as if she'd been waiting there patiently all along. She was completely in humanoid form, but wearing an old, over-embroidered white dress that gave her an air of spiders and cobwebs.

The thralls drew away, forming an impromptu but formal corridor through the room towards her Mistress. Greta strode forward and knelt before her, raising one hand, and her Pale Mistress took hold of it with one hand, holding it gently in her lap, and gently stroked Greta's hair with the other. "Tell me everything, my child," she said.


	6. Chapter 6

After she left Trinity, Greta jogged doggedly towards Magdalene Bridge. She regretfully avoided commandeering a bus, but when she got to the traffic lights at the bottom of castle hill she jogged straight across and dodged around the first waiting car to let herself into its passenger seat. She swept the veil aside long enough to meet the driver's panicked stare and tell her it was ok, but she needed to get to Milton right now. When the driver still hesitated, Greta tweaked the veil again and added, "Don't wait for the lights, there's nothing coming," and the car lurched forward.

She ignored the woman's forays into conversation and reviewed the situation. When her ride pulled up outside the Fen Arms she forced herself to expose her face once more, and caution the driver to forget the incident.

A thin young woman wearing a faded black band T-shirt and a lot of plain steel jewellery was hovering nervously on the pavement, and Greta swept her up in her wake into the pub where it was dark enough to leave her veil off for a while. The light pricked awkwardly, but not painfully. She sent Ruth to the bar to get some shots.

"Who are those people," Ruth asked.

"Vampires," Greta replied promptly. Ruth still looked doubtful, head down, playing with her bracelet. Hypnosis could make her trust, but not believe. Greta kept right on talking, "Or people who are as dangerous as vampires. I don't want to explain the details the but the danger is real." Ruth's distrust faded, a vague-enough story just acceptable enough for Ruth's trust to buy it.

"And who are you?" she asked next. People whose home had been invaded by vampires had more curiosity than people asked to do a brief favour.

Greta kept her answer brief and factual while leaving out the most important things. "I'm someone Clare knows, who knows a lot about people like this. They like to take over a house" -- well, if they needed to -- "they can be very dangerous to any civilians caught up in it."

Ruth nodded obligingly. "And... you're going to get rid of them?"

"Yes," said Greta. That at least was unvarnished truth.

Greta asked Ruth to describe the last few days. She's seen the two vampires only briefly. While she talked, Greta shook her foot under the table, and sloughed off the smallest rat she could manage. So close to daylight with part of herself missing, she was immediately tired, but left herself behind as she dashed out from under the table through the front door.

Humans don't realize how easily small mammals can move around a city without being seen. Squirming through the undergrowth, Greta-rat scampered quickly down the side road to the temporary vampire nest. There was a hedge, not a fence, and she squeezed through. The front garden looked normal, though the curtains on both floors were all closed, and looked like they had heavy things leaned against them from behind. The kitchen window had been painted black on the inside.

None of the changes were visible from the street unless you walked right up to the gate, and Greta saw why Carlos' and Miranda's people had missed the signs of a temporary vampire nest. Although she made a note to remind the vampires to drill their thralls in this kind of thing, not to simple travel down each street, but to think where someone would hide and check those places specifically.

Greta-rat nosed along the bottom of the wall. There were some cracks she could squeeze through, but when she tried, she was repulsed, a feeling of dread it was impossible to override. The vampires had had the house-mates do the rituals to bar the house against other vampires. If they ritually barred enough of the doors and windows the protection would extend to other entrances too.

She peered at the bottom of the door, and pressed her nose against it. She couldn't smell much, but she got a sense of space on the other side, the door was probably barred, but not barricaded entirely. She couldn't hear anyone moving, and couldn't smell anyone having left recently.

There was no way round to the back garden without going through the house, and the afternoon was waning so Greta headed back to the pub. When she got there, she re-merged with her human self. She'd had Ruth describe the inside of the house, and her housemates, gregarious Charles and geeky Simon, and anything she'd heard from them.

She re-covered herself fully and told Ruth to lead the way. Just short of the house, she stopped Ruth and issued some last minute instructions. Ruth would take her as far as the front door. She'd tell Greta to go inside. Greta made her practice the wording, just "go inside" to avoid her complicated it at the last minute, but she obeyed the instructions promptly. She'd rolled her eyes at this request a bit, but didn't object to following it. Then she'd unlock the door quickly but calmly and then get herself somewhere safe. She wouldn't come back to the house for a day, and then forget about the strange interlopers.

Once Ruth was clear on the steps, Greta hooked the balsa scythe over a convenient wall and opened the small shotgun case, reaching in with her left hand and flipping gun and case over so the case rested loosely over the gun. Ruth fished out her keys, separated one, and thrust the rest back into the pocket of her baggy trousers.

They marched together to the front door. Ruth reeled off her introduction without hesitation in a clear but quiet voice, slid her key into the lock promptly but without trying to keep it silent, and snicked the lock open. Then she took a couple of big steps back, and Greta heard her hurrying away. She was impressed with her sense in making herself scarce quickly without asking any more questions.

As Ruth had opened the lock, Greta had pulled her arms out of the robe and drew the knife from her waist with her right hand. She dove forward, letting the gun case fall away and the robe shed behind her. She pushing with all the strength of her legs and hit the door with her shoulder, low near the bottom. Wood splintered as the door snapped off hinges and bolts, swivelling under a metal bar which had held in place half way up.

Greta rolled under it and to her feet, bellowing "Oh, yeah? Heeeere's Greta!" She'd entered into a short corridor and as quickly as she could she took in the interior of the house. There was almost no light, but a vampire could still see clearly.

Living room to the left. Stairs ahead. Kitchen at the end of the corridor. Taking a quick guess she ran forward up the stairs. They opened into a landing facing a blank wall, with corridors on both sides behind. Greta spun and let herself land hard against the wall with her back. A snarling woman charged her from the bathroom to the left and she discharged the shotgun into her. Her face and upper torso exploded, thick black vampire blood sprayed across Greta and the wall behind her as it caught the other vampire at point blank range. The other vampire collapsed, twitching weakly as her flesh writhed, inconsistently trying to knit itself together.

Greta looked around. She thought she smelled the other vampire in the bedroom to her right. She dropped the shotgun and twitched out a second smaller knife from her sleeve. She moved cautiously in that direction: with one vampire down for a while she had less fear of being cornered from behind.

She stepped lightly along the shortened corridor, which opened into a mid-size bedroom, the bed upended and propped against the window. Fantasy books lined the walls, so it had been Simon's bedroom. She couldn't hear any movement, and she slid forward until she saw legs sitting in a worn armchair filling the space the bed had vacated.

As she moved forward, the other vampire heard her and lent forward, spreading her arms in an ironic gesture of welcome. She was wearing jeans and a male patterned shirt that were too big for her, but she managed to make it look regal.

"I surrender. We apologize for intruding on your territory without proper courtesy."

Greta eyed her suspiciously but was at least willing to listen. She stopped moving, staying exactly still with her weight balanced in a stance that allowed easy movement in any direction.

"Call me Hickory," the other vampire continued. "I greet you on my own behalf, as I cannot bring greetings from my former master. We only wish to live peacefully."

"Will you swear fealty to the Pale Mistress?"

"Ah, Elisabeta. The spider queen," she mused, rolling the concept around her mouth. But after a considering pause she continued on a new tack. "I heard the disturbance outside just now. I hope you left poor Jasmine alive, I really love her, you know."

Greta waited silently in turn. They could both hear Jasmine moving slightly, and if she wasn't dead yet she probably wouldn't die.

"She's not my convert," the other vampire continued. "My last was not still with me, and it would be decades before my right would become due again. Star made her, and he can be a cruel master. The Bone Baron wouldn't intervene, and as soon as she turned enough to survive without him, we fled looking for a better master."

"Or a city with a weak ruler where you could live as loners and hunt how you liked?" Greta asked, but there was no reply. She didn't trust the other vampire at all, but probed for any information which was forthcoming. "Why did you stop in Cambridge?"

"The travel sickness came on Jasmine badly," she replied. The other vampire showed no emotion, but that was roughly how Greta imagined it. The vampire who had attacked her could easily not have been at full strength, even for a fledgeling. "We decided to wait it out."

"We were concerned that if we made our presence known, your Mistress would hand us back to the Bone Baron," the other vampire continued in the same flat tone.

"And the surplus human corpse we found?" asked Greta. "Is that what you claim as subtley?"

"Alas," she replied. "Mistakes happen. Certainly I and my Jasmine have not killed anyone in your territory," she waved a hand expansively. "For Saffron I can't speak. She begged me to accompany us, but she has acted erratically since."

Greta was about to reply when she heard footsteps running from the bedroom on the other side of the stairs towards them. Trapped between two threats, Greta lunged forward, trying to eliminate the greater one first. Vampires are all strength and agility, but their healing factor means straight on blows are usually pointless unless you can piece the heart or head through the protective bones. Greta hurled herself onto the other vampire, who twisted trying to bring them to the floor with Greta below.

Her right arm was low but unhindered, and she thrust with the knife up through the other vampires stomach, the sharpened steel slicing through the thin shirt and solid flesh behind, her blade driven deeper as the weight of two vampires landed on her hand. But her blow was off target, slicing up the vampire's chest cavity but only grazing her heart. Black blood rolled out onto the floor beneath them.

If there isn't a quick deathblow fights between experienced vampires are usually determined by who can get control and more severely damage the brain or the heart on a held opponent. Greta's other hand was trapped, but the other vampire had an arm round her neck and was gouging at her face with her other hand. The other vampire's claws began to extend, and Greta kicked the wall, throwing her away from the other vampire.

The two humans ran into the room, jamming against each other's shoulders in the doorway as they struggled to see which vampire was which in the dark. Both were wan and wild-eyed with trails of bites along their necks. One was screaming "Die, demon" at Greta while thrusting a long pole sharpened like a spear, the other was trying to bring a length of metal pipe to bear. Greta cursed her luck, if she'd been behind the other vampire, the humans might well have attacked her first by mistake.

Greta rolled against their legs. The spear man burst past his compatriot and tripped over Greta, landing between her and the other vampire. The pipe man's momentum was arrested by the jam in the doorway but he continued his heavy handed swing down onto her head. Pain and nausea exploded through her skull and she felt parts of her head moving unpleasantly against each other, but she'd honed her ability to fight through injuries, trusting her body to heal afterwards.

The pipe man was wildly off balance from the swing and she punched upward into his stomach throwing him back down the corridor. She hammered the floor with a hand, springing up into a low crouch.

The other vampire had just gained her feet, and she and Greta watched each other, looking for any weakness to move into. The spear man had clambered upright as well and glanced between the two crouching vampires, but swung his pole round to vaguely menace Greta while the vampires ignored him. As the moment stretched on, he glanced again at the other vampire's torso, apparently seeing some damage even if he couldn't see the black blood seeping through her shirt, and back into the corridor at the body of the other vampire he'd pushed past at the top of the stairs. He looked increasingly uncertain.

The other vampire jerked forward without warning with a straight punch to the chest. Greta turned sideways slightly to blunt its momentum and reached past, letting it land if she could grapple again. But the fist splintered, a forearm becoming a messy bundle of twigs, cracked and splintered which sank into her chest at an angle. She'd stepped close to the other vampire, trying to hook a leg round her legs, but the twigs rammed and split against her ribs, some driving through the gaps, and then Greta howled in distress as the broken ends of twig began growing into her chest, questing slowly like blind roots digging into soil.

She screamed and thrust the other vampire away with both hands, but the other vampire had met Greta's grapple and planted her weight forward so Greta sprawled backwards onto the floor. Seeing a chance the pipe wielder rushed her, trying to bring in another head blow. But Greta's reflexes kicked in and she brought her legs up over her head and kicked, catching the pipe wielder low in his stomach and letting his own momentum carry him over her and straight into the other vampire in a tangle of limbs.

Greta didn't wait, but leaped onto the struggling figures before the vampire could toss the human aside. Her added weight brought the pile of bodies to the floor and seeing an momentarily clear shot Greta made a single strong punch to the other vampire's jaw, crushing it. The other vampire thrust out, throwing the other two off her, but Greta rolled aside from the blow, keeping balanced on one foot and then brought her remaining small knife round in a second thrust, dodging the other vampire's raised arms and sinking past her shattered jaw into her brain from below.

The other vampire went limp, and Greta rode her down into the floor on her knees. Her resistance had slackened, and Greta took a better grip on the knife and thrust it home, twisting as thoroughly as she could, and the other vampire slumped motionless.

Greta raised her attention to the two humans, but they were cowering back against the walls. When they didn't seem inclined to move, Greta brushed the worst of the blood from her clothes, walked precisely over to each in turn, bringing her face close enough they could see her eyes, and commanding "Sleep."

* * *

Greta glanced along the corridor, and the other vampire at the top of the stairs was struggling to move, but still far from healed. In the meantime she tipped the bed back from the window, resting precariously against the chair and pushing it back against the far wall. And threw the curtains back, stepping smartly out of the room.

There was about an hour of daylight left, enough to eliminate the older vampire if there was any life left in her. Meanwhile Greta scooped up the abandoned pole and padded along the corridor to inspect the fledgling vampire. Jasmine's flesh had knitted partially back together, healing slowly from the hardened wooden shot, but she didn't seem aware yet.

Greta scooped her up and dragged her forwards into the bathroom, and shoulder-hauled her up and over into the bathtub. While she waited for her to heal, Greta double checked the rest of the house was unoccupied, and began cleaning up. She wiped the worst of the gore off herself and then busied herself tidying.

She gathered up her knives, and went downstairs to retrieve her cloak and shotgun case. She moved the furniture back from the windows downstairs, and the same in the other bedroom, glancing to see how Jasmine was doing on the way past. Loosely draping the cloak over herself to enter Simon's bedroom, she gathered the bedding, half on the beds, and half discarded on the floor and clothes and piled them into an overflowing laundry basket as best she could. She took one of the sheets back to the bedroom and moved Hickory's gently smouldering corpse onto it, to keep the bloodstains as much off the floor as she could.

When the rest of the house was a little bit tidier, she filled a bucket with soapy water, tromped up the stairs and began scrubbing the stains Jasmine had left on the landing. After a little while, Jasmine's gurgling from the bathroom became more coherent. 

Greta strode back into the bathroom and twitched the curtains open. Jasmine hissed, but Greta didn't let herself show any reaction. She could stand it for a few minutes, and even the weak late-evening sunlight intimidated younger vampires a lot. Jasmine was struggling to climb out of the tub, so Greta thrust her back down with a strong arm to the chest and settled onto a tall stool she'd left handy for the purpose.

Greta met her eyes for a long time, waiting to see if Jasmine would speak first. The other vampire flailed weakly and didn't evolve any words for a long time, but eventually croaked, "Did you kill Hickory too?"

"Not quite," Greta replied. It would have been better if she'd been able to save both and play them off against each other a little, but she wouldn't have expected Hickory to give up much so the illusion would do nearly as well. "She's lying in the sun just like you. If she lasts till dusk, maybe my Pale Mistress will let her swear fealty."

That planted the idea, though the other vampire didn't react, so Greta continued. "Hickory entered my Mistress' territory and refused to offer fealty or even basic courtesy, and is dying from it. She's not likely to be accepted under my Mistress' wing now. But if you pledged yourself, it might help. A bit. At least, she might be banished or imprisoned, not killed." Greta didn't mention the cellarer's closed cells.

Jasmine didn't reply, but her eyes flickered with interest. Greta pressed on, baiting the hook with enough harshness to sound realistic, but enough mercy to be tempting. "The Pale Mistress can be harsh, but is fair and generous to subordinates who serve her loyally. Unlike Star when the Bone Baron lets her run roughshod over her leigepeople. If you petition for a place, I will vouch that you seem sincere."

"It doesn't have to be forever," she continued. "At least a few years. My Mistress can't have irresponsible rogue vampires disrespecting her hunting rights. But if you do things the right way, you can petition to be released. You might be able to find Hickory again, even." Greta spun out the faint hope that they could go live happily somewhere remote, although Jasmine might in truth be better off without Hickory. Being better than Star was not a high bar to put your trust in someone.

Greta's voice trailed off thoughtfully. "Although... Did she kill that human?"

Greta hadn't thought Hickory would have let her be so careless, but the accusation served to startle the other vampire vampire into a denial. "No, we didn't even... She kept me from going feral was I was delirious from travel-sickness. I think that was Saffron, she left Hickory as soon as we got here, and the thirst was on her too..."

Confirmation of the third vampire was most of what Greta wanted to know. Hickory had carefully avoided mentioning her either way.

She prodded for the details. "Saffron?"

"The shape changer?" Jasmine explained. "She escaped with Hickory too, but she seemed to have her own plan in mind."

Greta suppressed an oath. She'd heard rumours of a shape changer in the Ely court, a vampire who could take on a dayform resembling a human, even to choosing specific faces, but she hadn't realized she'd been a fledgeling, or likely to show up in Cambridge. The inconsistency in how many of the drunken student interlopers had escaped was suddenly much more suspicious, and the way they'd stumbled into their unlikely raid and blundered through the outer defences suddenly made sense.

A few more sentences established that Jasmine didn't know anything else about Saffron's plans, other than that she hated the vampires above her in the hierarchy. Then Greta scooped up the sharpened pole and with one large overhand strike, brought it round, impaling into Jasmine's chest, cracking the bathtub, and sinking into the floor below.

Jasmine jerked in shock and Greta batted her hands roughly away from the pole through her torso. She'd aimed for one side of the chest, not the vampire's heart. "I need to go," she said. "Someone will be by to collect you after dark, and they hopefully won't kill you. I advise you to stay right here." Fleeing immediately would also have something to recommend it if Greta was honest, but that wouldn't make her life easier, and even if Jasmine got free before dark, she wouldn't be able to travel easily.

"And if you meet any humans, don't kill them," she added.

Greta glanced round the room to see if everything was in order, and then hurried downstairs. She scooped up her equipment from the landing and took the stairs in one long, shallow jump.


	7. Chapter 7

Scanning the living room turned up a fortuitous telephone, fallen from a corner table, but still connected to the socket in the wall. Greta picked up the phone and dialled Trinity, adding the extension for the crypts. The phone rang unusually long, before being answered by a panicked sounding member of the maintenance staff.

"What's going on?" Greta asked at once.

Recognizing her voice, the thrall on the other end erupted into breathless explanation. "Do you want to talk to Mr Bantram?"

Greta immediately assented, and the thrall dropped the phone. But shortly after, Dean Wintrell snatched it up. "Greta?"

"Yes."

"You need to get here now. Our Pale Mistress found the heart -- the renegade's -- gone. She is in a towering fury, and we're turning the crypts upside down."

Greta thought quickly. It wasn't the first time the heart had been mislaid. Like many powerful vampires, her Mistress could be jealous of anything she hoarded, and paranoid about her safety. She periodically moved the heart into a different hiding place in the crypts, and had sometimes lost track of it afterwards until she remembered where she'd placed it. But if Saffron had infiltrated the crypts and carried the heart out, she was probably taking it to Lakshmi right now.

"I think I know who took it," she said. "I'm on my way to the renegade first, if you will convey my suggestion to my Pale Mistress?"

"Ah yes, of course," agreed the Dean hurriedly.

"One moment," cut in Greta before the Dead dropped the phone. "There's a real mess here. As soon as there's a quieter moment, get DCI Carslow out here and get someone to meet her. One of the rogue fledgelings survived, she might be useful." She recited the address.

"I will," replied the Dean. "Go! Go!"

Greta dropped the phone which clattered to the living room floor and sprinted for the door. There was nothing else she needed, and it was dark enough she could move at her full speed. Vampires don't tire soon, and she ran back along the street, swerving at the corner back down Milton Road toward Cambridge.

A moped courier was just slowing to read the street sign, and screeched to a halt beside Greta as soon as he saw her. Greta recognized him as one of Carlos'. Greta pivoted, strong-arming him off the bike before he could dismount, and swung the bike around, throwing herself astride. She'd practised with one of Carlos' mopeds in case she ever needed to, and better for him if he wasn't on the bike when she crashed.

She revved the engine and squealed down the street, pumping the engine as much as possible. If she dodged and never braked, the little scooter could get up to 40 or 50 mph. 

* * * *

The cobbles on the last stretch had done for the rest of Greta's control, as she guided the bucking vehicle along the street, the few humans wandering aimlessly in the road jumping smartly out of the way. As she emerged in front of senate house she gave up the struggle and leapt clear, letting the vehicle collapse in a tumble of sparks and slam into the railings.

There was a steady trickle of people walking past Great St Mary's but no crowd was gathering yet, and Greta vaulted up the spiked railings. She landed balanced for a moment on top, and then took a standing leap to grasp the window ledge of one of the upper windows. She pulled herself rapidly onto the masonry over the door, one hand hugging the adjacent pillar and climbing onto the window ledge, then leaping up and reaching out and round to grasp the ledge round the roof.

She hauled herself onto the roof by her arms, and saw the missing rogue crouched talking to Lakshmi. Lakshmi was slowly transforming, the solid stone of her gargoyle form grinding and softening, becoming an intermediate form of thick leathery flesh. She was just asking "Where is it?" when they saw Greta emerging over the roof.

Greta dashed along the ledge towards them, and Lakshmi turned, finally abandoning her endless vigil, and leapt far from the rooftop, spreading her wings. Saffron dived forward, and Lakshmi reached for her with her vast stone hind claws, and the rogue fledgeling grabbed on, being carried smoothly away from the building.

The gargoyle vampire's steady glide was already out of reach, but Greta leapt from the roof directly towards her, arcing through the air, and threw, arm extended, shifting a chunk of her mass as quickly as she could into a small pair of rats. The rest of Greta tumbled away disintegrating in the shock into a shower of shocked rodents, as the Greta-rats soared through the air to land low against the Saffron's back. They gripped at her shirt with their claws, digging in, and rapidly scrambled upwards.

Saffron let go with one hand and scraped it violently down her back. One rat was caught in the sweep and her hold knocked loose, but as the rogue grasped for her, she caught onto her flailing sleeve. The other rat dodged sideways, avoiding the frantically sweeping hand, and climbing round and up, across her violently swinging torso, and onto the remaining arm.

Above, Lakshmi groaned with anger, and jerked her claw about, trying to get a grip on Saffron's arm, or to toss Greta off. Saffron brought her other hand up, grabbing the rat off her other shoulder and crushing her in her hand, all the important little rat organs ground into pulp. But the remaining Greta-rat was whirled round on the fabric and took a leap for the rogue's other forearm, convulsing in pain as her fellow rat died, and reflexively bit as deep as possible, aiming for tendons, and as the vampire's fist full of crushed rat swung back to knock the second rat away, her other hand gave way and they were both falling.

The surviving rat tumbled in the air, paddling for a moment trying to make sure she was free from the grasping vampire, but then all was a rush of approaching ground, and Saffron twisted, dropping Greta-rat's corpse, to land on her feet, and Greta rat plopped onto the lawn, easily absorbing the small creature's less violent fall.

She looked around frantically for the rest of her, disoriented by the death of a part of her. But fell still watching. The ground was covered by a scuttering carpet of tiny white spiders, flowing together around the two crouching vampires. They left a little space around the injured rat, but were climbing over Saffron's boots, inching up over and under her trouser legs. The fledgeling took a flying leap trying to get clear, but she was already weakening from many tiny poison bites, and Beata appeared, gripping her in her vast arms. She struggled briefly but lapsed into unconsciousness, the cellarer throwing her unceremoniously over her shoulder, flanked by Miguel and the Fensnake and a small gathering of thralls.

All was calm for a moment. Greta saw the rest of her rats hurrying toward her, and reabsorbed them, reforming an imposing but shaken humanoid figure. She knelt, naked, on the grass as the tiny white spiders ballooned together, sucking in the gown Miguel handed into the growing pillar, until Greta's Mistress stood there, regarding her dispassionately.

Greta looked up into her Mistress' stern features. "My Mistress. The rogue vampire said she hid the renegade's heart before coming here to meet her, but the renegade took her chance to flee Cambridge." She added, "I apologize for not stopping her."

But her Mistress' anger was already softening at the news that the renegade had not yet been restored whole. She glanced at the captured form of Saffron, and looked back down at Greta. "Do not be ashamed my child, you have served me well." She reached out to touch Greta approvingly on the cheek. "Did she say where she had hidden the heart?"

"No, my Mistress. I would guess, elsewhere in the catacombs, or a hiding place aboveground." Whether she meant to bargain somehow with the renegade, or merely feared to be caught with the renegade's heart, Greta couldn't' tell. Although it had not turned out well for her.

The Pale Mistress, turned, commanding her household to follow after her. Margery Fensnake had gathered Greta's clothes and equipment where they'd fallen, and Greta wrapped the long leather coat round herself. Fensnake turned to shoo away as many gawking humans as possible, scanning the crowd for any thralls who could help, or any constables who could be pressed into service, and Greta let her handle it.

Her Pale Mistress had gestured for the cellarer to attend on her, and was issuing quiet instructions, to take the rogue for questioning in the closed cells, and report everything she find out. Greta shuddered.


	8. Chapter 8

Early evening a week later, as Greta turned into Trinity Street on her way to her Mistress' summons, Fensnake and Miguel fell into step alongside her.

"She chose the delegation," Fensnake explained. "And a route across country. You'll stop at most of the territories along the way to stave off travel sickness, reiterate treaties and see how they're faring."

"You'll be the main muscle," Miguel said.

"And she's sending your little Annie," added Fensnake. "She said it would be good experience for her, and you'd need someone organized."

"And she wanted to send Malik," said Fensnake "She reckoned the Queen might put some puzzles in the challenges, which makes sense."

"But he was in the middle of researching something else for our Mistress," said Miguel, "so she settled on one of his protégés, Deeba."

"Malik says she's good at that sort of thing," said Fensnake.

"But Madre de Dios, don't let her insult anyone important," said Miguel.

"What's my other half?" asked Greta ironically.

"Don't let anyone important insult her," said Fensnake with a grin. "And don't let the rest of the delegation kill each other either."

Miguel lowered his voice hurriedly to fill Greta in on a few more details. "The thralls still haven't found the renegade's heart, it surely can't be long now. But Patricia got a tip off, she visited King's Lynn. Patricia thinks she might serve on the Dread Captain's delegation, be covered by the Queen's hospitality for the duration."

"She'll probably be gunning for you," cautioned Fensnake. "But you've got more experienced backup and she doesn't."

By now they were rounding the corner to the forecourt in front of Trinity's Great Gate, and Fensnake and Miguel's nervousness had becoming overpowering. "Our Pale Mistress has the Crawling Fog leading the delegation," blurted Miguel.

"You need to get the younger ones under control before Jemisha kills one of them," said Fensnake.

The scene in front of Trinity had just come into view. A vintage car sat slewed across the forecourt, turned to face outward the most efficient way, ignoring the one way system. An elegantly dressed woman with pale brown skin and large dark sunglasses was standing, speaking imperiously to a human backing away beside Greta and Annie. Deeba stepped angrily forward in front of the human, and Jemisha brought one arm round in an eye-blurring blow even for a vampire, sending Deeba tumbling backwards, skidding along the cobbles. A puff of dark smoke and droplets of blood sprayed up from where the blow touched her face.

Greta broke into a sprint, and grabbed the human by the arm just as she was about to break and run away.

"Lady Jemisha, an honour to meet you in a different venue," Greta said, bowing her head.

Jemisha chuckled. "Always good to see you, my dear child. Welcome to our little journey."

Before things proceeded further Greta forcibly turned the human's head toward her to make eye contact and spoke forcefully. "It doesn't matter what happened or who is right. Lady Jemisha would appreciate hospitality. Allow her to feed. Remain calm, and you will probably survive, but not unless you show her perfect courtesy. Then leave, quickly, to somewhere you can recover from weakness."

The human swayed for a moment under the force of Greta's urgent command, and then stepped forward obligingly, tilting her head to offer her neck to the dangerous vampire. Jemisha stepped forward to clasp the human to her and begin feeding.

Greta looked round wildly. Miguel had commandeered a passing college porter and they were trying to shoo passing humans away from the scene.

Fensnake had rushed to where Deeba had fallen. Her face where the blow had fallen was partially eaten away as if by some corrosive gas, and was slowly healing. Annie was crouched beside her, urgently begging her not to react violently, but Fensnake had planted a boot on her neck to make sure of the matter.

Greta stepped rapidly over to them, and told Deeba vehemently. "You need to learn to submit. You need to learn instantly. It's not fair, it's never fair, but this is what being a vampire is, whatever relaxed utopia you've been playing in with Malik. You can keep your friend safe by submitting and hoping for the best. But if you attack a more senior vampire now, you will be lost."

Greta glanced at Fensnake as she punctuated Greta's speech by leaning more heavily on Deeba's neck. It wasn't an effective hold against more experienced vampires, as a vampire's weight didn't increase proportionally with their strength, but it hurt a lot and cowed inexperienced vampires effectively. She looked at Deeba's face, glaring back at her, and saw Deeba was not likely to submit any time soon.

She crouched, and whispered to Deeba, "Thank me for this later."

Then she strode back to Lady Jemisha. The Mistress of the Night had just finished a short feed from Deeba's human friend, and was letting her collapse to the cobblestones beneath. "Deeba apologizes for her reaction and thanks you for your mercy," Greta announced.

Jemisha laughed again, a crackling sound of lightning on broken glass. "Ah, my Greta, so tough and kind hearted. Very well, I accept her apology. Please do keep the young ones in line, though."

She gestured to the car. "Shall we?"

Sixty seconds later, Lady Jemisha was in the passenger seat and Deeba was seething in a back seat as Miguel carried her injured friend away, but controlling her reactions under protest. Greta felt sure Jemisha was about to start taunting her again to put her in her place, and she hugged Annie with an apologetic grimace, and swung herself into the driver's seat as quickly as she could.

Distracted from her victim, Lady Jemisha glanced over at her. As she turned her head, Greta caught a glimpse of churning black smoke in her eye sockets behind her glasses. "Well then," she said to Greta. "Go on. Hit it!"


End file.
